


Work This Out

by scorpio_pit



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Office, Angry Sex, Coworkers Who Don't Like Each Other to Lovers, Eddie is Forty, Enthusiastic Consent, Feelings Realization, M/M, Phone Sex, Power Imbalance, Richie is Late Twenties, Semi-Public Sex, Slow-ish burn, Slut Shaming, fleshlight, office supplies as sex toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27767047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpio_pit/pseuds/scorpio_pit
Summary: “I know it's a grind, butI'm sure we can findA way to have funWhile we get this job done” -Troy Bolton, Work This Out, High School Musical 2Or, Eddie hates the office's new receptionist and the feeling is certainly, definitely (probably, maybe?) mutual.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 60
Kudos: 228





	1. ACT ONE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queermccoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queermccoy/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Alec!!!! This is for you, sorry it is so late and thank you for this excellent prompt. i <3 you buddy
> 
> Chapter Two is already completed and will be up next Saturday, same time!

“So, Mr. Tozier—”

“Richie, please.”

“Mr. Tozier. Do you know why you’re in here today?”

“Not specifically, but I’m assuming I did something bad.” Tozier tightens the corners of his mouth into an exaggerated frown, making him look kind of like a turtle. Eddie is already tired.

“You said,” Eddie clicks back over to the email with the formal complaint and reads slowly, as if to a child, “‘Can I get some fries with that shake’ to a senior executive. Is that right?” 

Eddie looks away from his computer and up into this guy’s—kid’s, really, he’s not much more than a kid, maybe late twenties—face and tries to parse out what kind of meeting this is going to be. Eddie’s been in his position as HR director for over fifteen years now, and he’s had experience with just about everything. This could be the kind of guy that denies anything he’s said, but judging by the proud smirk underneath his stubble and the glint in his magnified eyes, he’s not that guy. He could be one of the ones who thinks his actions are justified—a real sexist fuck. Eddie doesn’t get those vibes from looking at Tozier, as he fidgets his hands in his lap, face shiny with a light sheen of sweat. But Eddie would have to disregard his aforementioned years of experience to fully rule that one out. He won’t be able to tell if this guy is truly a dickhead until he asks him a few more questions. 

Despite Tozier being the first face people would see when walking in the front door, Eddie’s never really looked at him before. Eddie isn’t in the business of noticing people. Tozier is attractive, with his long legs and sturdy build. Frizzy, curly hair that is dark enough to pass for black under the shitty fluorescent lights. He’s got big, blue eyes and strips of thick lashes that Eddie can almost count with how magnified they are under his clunky brown tortoise shell glasses. He has freckles, a slight buck in his front teeth, and a hook on the bridge of his nose that gives the impression he must have grown into his looks. So, maybe once a kid who was ugly, bullied. Now an adult man still clinging on to his defenses in the form of off-color jokes and shitty pick-up lines. This is probably his first job that even has an HR department to call him out on it. 

“I did. And listen, Mr.—” Richie looks at Eddie’s enamel nametag on his expensive wooden desk for a second too long. “Hell of a last name, huh? What is that, a silent ‘p?’” Richie smiles as if he’s waiting for Eddie to laugh, which he won’t. Richie has a nice smile, though. “Oookay, listen, Mr. K. I will absolutely do my utmost best to not do it again. I didn’t even know who the person was. I was just sittin’ at the front desk, we were chatting, and I got too comfortable. I whole-heartedly apologize and accept responsibility, yada yada yada, that’s what you need, right?”

“It’s Mr. Kas-p-brak,” Eddie pronounces his last name with both the precision and deathly impact of a skilled assassin. “And not knowing whose body you’re commenting on honestly worsens your case here. Just don’t talk about anyone’s bodies at all. Or just stick to answering phones, which you have a script for, and buzzing people in. If you do that, I won’t have to see you again.”

“What a shame that would be.” Tozier winks at him. Yes, for real, winks at him. Eddie’s eyebrows lower in a movement that people at the work parties have called “scary” after they’ve made too many stops at the open bar. Relentless, this Tozier. 

“I’ll let that slide this time,” Eddie says but does not mean, he’s absolutely marking that interaction in the file _for sure_. Eddie stands up and walks around his desk to the heavy wooden door, opens it and looks pointedly out into the hallway. “This is your first warning. It’s verbal. Next time, it will be written. You get three, then you’re fired. You’re dismissed.”

Tozier smirks, infuriating and smug, as he stands to walk past Eddie and back to his station.

Eddie wants to smack that smirk off of him. 

Eddie gives Tozier maybe a month before he’s back in here. Another idiot who is gonna take way too long to fire because of bureaucracy, wasting both of their time and company’s resources. Eddie is going to have to pull in a meeting with the recruiter to figure out how this guy even got in, he’s sure Tozier didn’t behave for the entirety of the three-hour interview process. Eddie pulls up the company message system, and shoots a meeting request to Stan Uris. 

_Bing!_

Stan messages back quicker than he ever has, usually one to ignore anyone for hours then send an overly formal email. 

**_Richie?_ **

Eddie types even quicker.

 **_Yes._ **

**_I’ve known him since we were kids, go easy on him._ **

**_Accept the meeting request, Stan._ **

**_No._ **

**Stanley Uris has ended chat. Rate the performance of your chat. 1-5 Stars.**

Eddie rolls his eyes and closes the chat because he can’t rate it zero stars like he wants to. Stan doesn’t deserve a single star based on the hiring of his asshole friends. Eddie knows the stars are for connection or like internet speed or whatever, but fuck Stan right now. He’s personally delivering Eddie a headache of an employee and he knows it.

But still, Stan’s a good guy. Eddie’s worked with him for a few years now, even more so once he was promoted to HR director. Since Stan has been put in charge of hiring, to Eddie’s relief, they haven’t gotten many problem cases or repeat HR offenders. Stan is an excellent judge of character, or so Eddie thought. That thought can definitely be revisited now that he’s hiring his friends who are clearly not qualified. 

Or maybe, Eddie thinks as he bites on his pencil, getting those little yellow paint chips in his mouth, maybe he should give Tozier more of a shot. 

If Stan, hardass that he is, let this guy in, maybe he’s not so bad. Just young and nervous, probably. Or Stan let someone in because of sentiment and knows that he won’t get in much trouble after three years of none of his recruits getting fired. Eddie’s not inclined to believe either of his theories over the other yet, even if he’s still thinking about Tozier’s smirk. Time will tell really. 

* * *

Time tells. 

Eddie goes from never seeing Richie to seeing Richie twice a day. 

Every morning when Eddie walks into the office with his oatmeal and his mason jar of cold brew, and Richie looks at him with his good-natured, _annoying_ smile and says, ‘Good morning, Mr. K.’ Eddie doesn’t respond.

Then again every night when Richie leaves (always at least an hour before Eddie, who still has some catching up to do). Richie pokes his head into Eddie’s cracked door (his higher-ups told him he has to keep it cracked, instead of firmly shut like he’d like), and says, ‘Good night, Mr. K.’ To which Eddie, of course, doesn’t respond. 

(Richie’s being an asshole, Eddie _told_ him how to pronounce Kaspbrak.) 

Richie says goodnight to everyone still left in the building, he must really want to fit in here. He seems to always save Eddie’s for last in some relentless bid to aggravate Eddie to death. 

Still, every day it’s the same routine, for months, and Eddie grows very tentatively used to it. He still doesn’t entertain Richie’s stupid attempts to irk him. He’ll only call him Richie in his head, won’t give him the satisfaction yet. He’ll give an inch and Richie will take four football field lengths and an extra acre just because.

Eddie has to pull Richie in about his comments or jokes frustratingly often. Richie always says things that aren’t incriminating enough to get written up, but enough that he has to call him in to address a complaint and make sure Richie knows to “never say it again.” Eddie wishes Richie would just control his stupid mouth, or do something to get an actual written warning this time. Eddie wants to see Richie’s face transform into foolish shock instead of the infuriating arrogance that always rests across his features. God, he eats up so much of Eddie’s time these days.

Eddie doesn’t like Richie. He’s always in trouble with someone, definitely unprofessional, and he’s just kind of nasty. 

But.

Eddie would fuck him. He’s thought about it, he’s an adult. 

If they met at a bar in Chelsea and not at work, Eddie would go for it. Sorry Freud, years of being controlled by his mother did not make him want to fuck her. It made him want to control and fuck someone else. 

Tozier’s whole… immature-asshole-who-needs-to-be-taught-a-lesson thing just _works_ for Eddie. 

(Strictly sexually speaking.)

Sometimes Eddie walks through the main lobby in the morning, when he’s got his work phone to his ear already listening to his boss complain about something or another, he’ll look towards Richie briefly, purely out of habit. Richie can hear the tinny sounds of the animated one-sided conversation over Eddie's line and will give Eddie a sarcastic smile or a funny little thumbs up. 

Today, Eddie sees Richie leaning over his desk. The desk is long and low, meant to make the receptionist appear welcoming to guests. But Richie is looking a little too welcoming with what appears to be someone in the entry-level training class, if the guest pass she has pinned to her blouse is any indication. She’s leaning in, too, and Eddie is looking right at Tozier’s face as he grins salaciously and winks at this girl who has her hand pressed to his forearm.

Eddie feels a burning in his gut, which is probably heartburn, and looks at his coffee offensively. He’ll have to look into a less acidic brew. He pushes it down and and pushes his eyes away from the frankly disgusting display of workplace harassment and stomps to his office. 

**Meeting request to Richard Tozier— Sent.**

Eddie’s not usually one to preemptively warn subordinates about their behavior. And he’ll swear up and down he’s not uptight.

But. 

Why would he, or _anyone_ for that matter, want to see Richie and some random person two playful swats away from making out at eight in the morning?! He’s expected to put up with this before he’s even eaten?!

Eddie could have sworn he worked at an office and not a zoo, or a fucking— a high school cafeteria or something. 

He doesn’t like Richie flirting with women at the front desk for anyone to see— 

Because… Well, because he doesn’t. It’s fucking _distasteful._

Eddie just wants Richie to get fired so his days can go back to normal. He can’t fire Richie himself, not without all the proper steps taken, but he can wish. He’d rather just field all his calls directly to his own office phone. 

Or hire a monkey. A monkey would do a better job without being so insufferable. 

Eddie would rather have to get used to a whole new person (something anyone close to him could ensure is one of his least favorite activities) than keep Richie around. He’d rather let people just walk into his office unannounced because of the open (cracked) door policy. 

Richie getting fired is much easier. 

So, Eddie calls the meeting, prepared to lay into Richie about being gross. Nothing to do with how the corner of Richie’s jaw looked when he was grinning at whatever the woman said, which was probably not interesting enough for all that fanfare. If Richie was his _friend_ , he would tell him not to make a fool of himself in public trying to flirt with someone so shamelessly. But Richie is not his friend. 

_Bing!_

**Meeting request with Richard Tozier— Accepted. 11 AM.**

Eddie’s not great at discipline no matter how much he loves to give it. Well, he’s the HR director so he kind of is good at it. But punishments as an HR director are made for him to give out. Someone does this stupid thing? Eddie has a script and a clear course of action that he’s supposed to take. It's a routine. Eddie likes routine.

But, does he? 

After a particularly interesting dream where he had Richie over his own expensive desk, face pushed into his enamel name plate so that the engraving embellished itself deep into Richie’s face as a sick stamp of ownership, Eddie’s not that sure if he knows what he’s doing. 

Eddie’s silently fuming about the upcoming meeting. Anticipation brews in the way it always does when he does something impulsive. It’s been a while since Eddie’s felt that way. He’s got little bubbles moving around the walls of his skull, perpetually floating and rolling around without bursting. He sits in his chair and wiggles his shoulders to try and dispel the energy to no avail. 

It might be stupid to call a meeting to essentially say something he could have just told Richie at his desk. But having Richie alone in the room again feels different. Better. More in control.

Eddie wants Richie alone in rooms. He wants to see how Richie will react to Eddie catching him, and calling him out directly on his own accord. 

Eddie thinks… he does have access to the names and pictures of the training classes. He could figure out who she— no. that's stupid. That would make him look jealous, instead of righteously uncomfortable. He has to be professional. 

_Bing!_

**Richard Tozier sent you a gif.**

Eddie looks around the office before he realizes that no one is in here to see him, so he opens it.

…

It’s fucking Garfield dancing. With animated glitter and clip art text.

Eddie leaves it on read and waits patiently (ish) til 11 AM.

* * *

_Bing!_ ****

**Meeting Reminder: With Richard Tozier in 10 minutes.**

Eddie stops examining his pen to press ‘enter’ on the keyboard, halting the alert noise. It wouldn't be so bad if Richie was early, he thinks.

* * *

“Alright, who complained this time?” Richie says jovially as his long legs carry him into Eddie’s office. Eddie needs to remember to try and come off as adept as possible. He wants Richie to feel like an idiot. 

“I saw you earlier. At the desk with the trainee.” Okay, Eddie needs to remember to do that starting next time he speaks. Richie’s eyebrows climb up, turning his forehead into an accordion before realization seems to dawn.

“Oh, Bev? Did she say something?” Richie bites the corner of his lip nervously. “Really? She was way more coming on to me you know, I was just being polite, I swear.” Eddie thinks about Richie’s stupid wink, his easy laugh. Sure, polite.

“Well, it looked entirely too cozy for work. You can't do that,” Eddie says with finality. That should be the end of it, but when he looks up from the tacky carpet at Richie’s face, he finds hubris.

“So… I can’t talk to a fellow employee at my desk?” 

“You were touching each other. You can’t do that,” Eddie snips, folding his arms so that he can stop them from gesturing. _Duh,_ Eddie thinks, how could he even make this simpler? 

“Did she complain?” Richie’s arrogant voice is grating to Eddie’s ears, as he tightens his fingers into his sleeves at the elbows. 

“It’s not _important_ if she complained. Other people who see something like that can complain. Or,” Eddie’s hand flies out and gestures wildly before he pins it back down beneath his bicep, “worse, feel _uncomfortable._ ”

“Okay, did someone else see and complain or feel uncomfortable?”

Eddie hesitates. Well, he saw and was uncomfortable and is now complaining. So…

“Yes,” Eddie says stuffily. 

“Huh, interesting. Cause I could have sworn the only person that walked by us for the five minutes she was at my desk was you.” 

The bubbles in Eddie’s brain turn to lead.

“Well, I can't disclose who filed a complaint.”

“Uh huh.” 

Eddie wants to wipe the smirk off of Tozier's face with his dick. 

The silence stretches on for a few uncomfortable seconds with Richie looking at him like he’s in on some stupid secret before Eddie prompts, “What?”

Richie speaks up, face transforming into a shit-eating grin, “Oh, nothing, nothing. While I’m in here, I was wondering… are we allowed to ask coworkers out? If there's no conflict of interest and we aren't even in the same department, would that be allowed?”

Eddie grinds his molars in the back of his mouth before forcing his jaw to relax.

“It is… frowned upon.”

“But I could,” Richie says quickly with the aura of someone who has won something.

“I don't see why you’d have to,” Eddie grits out, the thought descending upon him that he has lost all control of this meeting.

Richie’s eyes crinkle and he laughs. He laughs right in Eddie’s face.

“What?!”

“It’s just kind of a little warm here, under your skin.” Richie pretends to air out the collar of his shirt and positively leers, so fucking pleased with himself. Eddie’s head recoils like he was smacked. He’s not going to lose his complete mind and get into a fucking fist fight in his office. He is not.

Richie continues, “Well, I don't know how to explain to you that sometimes you ask people out without ‘having’ to.” His eyebrows go up and his mouth tightens into that little mock frown again. He claps his big hands on his big thighs as if it’s the punctuation to end his sentence, and begins to rise out of the chair. “So, no one complained, except maybe… you?” The way Richie’s voice goes high in question has Eddie wishing he could shoot the lead bubbles in his brain at him like bullets. “Are you jealous, Eds? You want me to only flirt with you?”

“No,” Eddie says quickly, with a lot more venom than is probably normal. 

“Oh, of course. God forbid,” Richie taunts. 

Eddie looks down at Richie's seated body like he’s a cockroach. He snaps his eyes back up to Richie’s, finding a barely noticeable blush and wide eyes which Eddie zeroes in on while he pictures the lead in his brain transforming back into sparkling translucent air pockets. 

Distantly, from the very back of his mind, Eddie sees a flash of his hands spreading open a tight ass over his desk.

“You’re right, this is stupid. I hope you get fired.” Eddie stands up, brushes his palms down his thighs for something to do with them, walks over to the door and opens it. “You’re dismissed.”

Richie doesn’t immediately move, instead he keeps looking at Eddie. Eddie isn’t sure if his own blush is apparent on his face, but hopes not. His mind still in a transient state, he needs to get Richie out before Eddie decides he wants to actually fucking do something. Eddie jerks his head towards the open door for emphasis, not making eye contact. 

Richie stands up, stops, and looks briefly like he’s going to say something. He walks over to the door, right in front of Eddie and stops again. Eddie peeks up at him through his lashes, observes as Richie nods to himself and walks out of the office. 

Eddie closes the door and locks it. At his desk, he stares straight ahead and tries to think of nothing to get the buoyant sensation to stop and get his heat rate back to normal. He crosses his arms on his desk and burrows his head into them and breathes. Fuck. He wonders if using his sick time for the first time in five years would be too dramatic for this. 

_Bing!_

**Message from Richard Tozier. Click to open.**

Eddie eyes the little pre-alert message box in the lower right corner of his screen suspiciously. He looks at the red X in the corner of the box, but ultimately clicks ‘open.’

 **_i’m sorry for saying that, it just slipped out. you were being really intense, dude :p_ **

Eddie thinks ‘intense’ might be a dangerous understatement for how he just behaved. He doesn’t want to admit to his own weird behavior, though. He’s more than happy to pin it all on Richie. Eddie nibbles on the hangnail on his thumb, puts his hand back down on the desk, realizes he got spit on his desk, wipes it off. He starts two aborted motions towards the keyboard before finally typing out a response. 

**_Fuck off._ **

**_Richard Tozier is typing…_ **

Eddie waits. Absurdly, Eddie thinks maybe that was too much—

**_Richard Tozier is typing…_ **

**_:)_ **

And seriously, fuck Richie.

* * *

Eddie tries his best not to bring work home. He stays late most days, so once he's clocked out, he just wants to be done.

But Eddie is only a man, and he can only be so strong.

So, when he gets home that night, he pops open his merlot with the electric wine opener he got for Christmas from Mike. Pours it to the brim into his fancy oversized wine glass, and opens his laptop.

He’s been trying to steer clear of doing this for a while now, but he has to. Eddie is a nosy man by nature. He grew up listening to his mom gossip day in and day out, and it’s one of the only things they have in common. 

He pulls up Facebook and types in Richard Tozier. After just a few seconds of scrolling, there he is. Luckily he has a weird last name. Eddie clicks his profile and to his mirrored delight and horror, nothing is set to private. He can see everything. Distantly Eddie thinks about how stupid that is and that he should warn Richie about employers doing exactly what Eddie is doing. But Eddie trying to warn Richie didn’t go great last time, he thinks as he downs about half of the wine in his glass.

Curiously, Eddie rolls over the irony in the thought that he keeps warning Richie of things that Eddie finds himself doing. 

Eddie opens the photos section and holds the spacebar down to get to the oldest. It looks like Richie has had this profile since high school. Eddie was right, he was unfortunate to look at then. He had a pizza face that looked painful, braces, a nose way too big for his face and limbs way too long for his torso.

Eddie moves on to get to what appears to be the college years. So, only a couple years ago. There’s at least two hundred shots of Richie tagged in the background of house parties and with groups of people at bars. Keg stands, beer funnels, pretending to motorboat someone’s tits. Eddie looks on feeling warm under the collar of his polo, from wine and from indignation alike. Richie needs to be more careful. This is why he should have a private fucking profile. He never would have gotten past recruitment if it wasn’t for Stan. Who, actually... huh… surprisingly is also in some of these party shots. Right next to Richie. Interesting. 

Eddie spends the next few minutes idly scrolling, not so sure what he was looking for to begin with. He just wants some background info on the guy who has been driving him crazy for weeks. That’s definitely the only reason.

But something catches his eye, a few pictures in a row with a lot of skin.

Richie is on a beach. 

He is on a beach and he is in a Borat bathing suit, lime green, thong, decently sized bulge on display and all. Eddie clicks one of the photos, Richie is stomach down on the sand, looking over his shoulder at the camera coyly. Eddie pours more wine in his glass as he takes in how Richie’s entire ass is presented. It's hairy, not big by any means, but it looks tight with little dimples on each cheek, like someone took a bite out of them and left the dents. He looks heavier than he does now, thighs a little beefier, more solid. Not like he used to work out, more like he was eating better. He was probably living with his parents, getting home-cooked meals.

In any case, Eddie’s eyes are locked on that ass. He has tan lines right under the crease, as if he spent all summer in tiny shorts wearing absolutely no sunscreen. The line goes from shockingly pale to lobster red. Eddie wants to grab it, dig each of his thumbs into the twin spots right underneath Richie’s ass cheeks and pull them apart. He wants to impress his fingerprints into that sunburn so they leave pale spots and streaks where he’s kneaded the skin, making Richie whine from the abuse on the sensitive surface before burying his face and tongue in the open space he created.

Eddie’s cock is getting hard and with a ferocity he’s not sure that can last, he is _not_ going to jerk off while looking at someone's Facebook. He is not that much of a creep. 

But.

As he gulps down some more wine, letting it wash down his dry throat, he tears his gaze away from the screen and eyes the stairs up to his second-level bedroom. He _could_ go upstairs to his room and think about spanking Richie’s sunburned ass as he jerks off. _That_ he can do. There's no crime against thinking about someone you know when you jerk off. It's not as weird as long as he doesn’t look at the pictures during, or something. Mind readers don't exist, Eddie thinks happily as he tops off his glass of wine, and starts his ascent upstairs.

* * *

Eddie mourns the time before he knew who Richie Tozier was, but now he sees him everywhere in the office.

Eddie sees Richie walking around sometimes or in the break rooms, and he’s always with that trainee, “Bev.” They don't seem to be flirting anymore, but they’re companionable, real buddy-buddy. They _eat lunch_ together, Eddie thinks bitterly. 

Eddie was up too late last night watching trash TV and he forgot to get his cold brew set up in time to steep for the allotted twelve hours, so he’s heading to the small break room off the main hallway that holds the coffee machines since they won’t let him keep one in his office. They said no because then he’d never leave and people need to think the HR director is “approachable.” Which Eddie thinks is a lost cause due to who he is as a person. 

So now he needs to drink the shitty hot coffee and get it from the shitty tiny break room like everyone else. Eddie twists his shoes a little harder than he needs to, squeaking them across the linoleum floor and making scuff marks on purpose, which is how he didn’t immediately see someone already using the break room. He stops just outside the door when he senses another presence from the room.

And of course, that’s Richie’s back facing him as he makes his own coffee.

Eddie is about to back up and walk right out to get to the bigger, more communal break room that is like fifty feet away when Richie turns around and now they’re looking at each other. 

Richie’s big blue eyes peer at Eddie like he's shocked into place, which maybe he is. But, Eddie’s forty and he can be alone in a six by six space with the guy he’s angrily jerked off about three times. It doesn't have to be a big deal, he thinks and clears his throat.

Richie seems to break out of whatever trance he was in, sending a tentative smile Eddie’s way. (What the fuck is he playing it now?!) Eddie nods stiffly before looking over Richie’s shoulder at the glossy white cabinets. He has a mug in this cabinet for the days he has to slum it in here. Richie goes back to fussing with the powdered cream (disgusting), and Eddie moves slowly around his huge fucking body (what does he have to be so big for?) to open the cabinet and look for his mug.

Eddie’s ears burn as he realizes that Richie isn’t going to move. He’s seemingly done making his coffee, but he’s still monopolizing almost the entire space in front of the cabinet clearly out of spite. Eddie squeezes into the space left between Richie and the wall. They’re so close that Eddie can smell Richie; he smells like fabric softener, cheap cologne and a little bit of smoke. Their sides are almost touching. 

Eddie huffs as he has to contort his torso around Richie like a question mark, and opens the cabinet to get this over with just to find that someone moved his fucking mug. He’s going to burn down the office, he thinks resolutely, as he also sees that they put it on the top shelf, all the way in the back, and now he can’t fucking reach it.

He could just back up, retreat to his office in submission, but Richie would know. He would know that Eddie came in here for a purpose and then abandoned that purpose because of Richie. Suddenly, that feels like too much power to give to him.

Eddie gets on his tip toes and hopes beyond hope that he can reach it, but his useless fingertips barely brush the handle of the mug. He sighs, ready to just accept defeat and scurry off when he feels a warmth along his side, followed by pressure.

The long slab of Richie’s torso is fitted against the right side of Eddie's back, as Richie plucks the mug from its elusive resting place. The domesticity turns the bubbles to magma, bobbing around in his brain like the globs in a lava lamp, burning holes where they touch, but Richie gives him no time to recover. He follows up whatever _that_ was with resting his big, square palm on Eddie’s forearm.

He leaves it there for one, two, three beats as he places the mug right on the Keurig platform and presses the button for Eddie. Eddie stares between his own mug and how Richie’s hand almost completely engulfs his wrist.

Eddie tilts his head up nervously and Richie is so close. This is beyond inappropriate and Eddie’s logical thoughts are having trouble catching up with the lust he feels pooling in his gut. Richie’s eyes hold a question that he seemingly gets an answer to in Eddie’s own because his expression transforms into something self-satisfied before he’s gone. 

Eddie stands alone in the break room, heart hammering. He listens to the steamy-splat noises of his coffee being made and decides to think about this interaction for as little time as possible, meaning the rest of the day and possibly the week. He’s gotten half hard in his slacks without noticing and pivots to press his cock against the counter. He hisses at the contact but applies more pressure so it's more painful, and waits for it to fully soften.

As Eddie’s heart and cock calm down, his anger grows. Who the fuck does Richie think he is? Eddie just had a meeting with him to tell him he can’t _touch_ people. Sure, Eddie meant other people, but whatever. He should pull Richie into another disciplinary meeting, what the fuck. He could easily get Richie fired over this one and he’d never have to deal with him again. Eddie knows he won’t do that, but he likes to imagine he’s the kind of guy who would. Instead of the kind of guy who gets hard over his twenty-something-year-old subordinate touching his fucking arm. 

Slowly, Eddie walks across the hall back to his office. He looks to his left and sees the back of Richie’s curly hair at his desk and wonders what it would feel like to pull it. How good would it feel to pull Richie down to his height so he couldn’t look so fucking superior next time he reaches to get something for Eddie. 

_(Next time? Fuck that. If he tries it again, Eddie’s just going to have to kick his stupid long legs, the only logical conclusion—)_

The rest of the day goes by without anything interesting happening in comparison. Eddie thinks about the hard line of Richie's body against his, but how it wasn’t pressed against him for long enough to really feel anything except warmth. His mind wanders about what it would have felt like if Richie stayed longer... if he grinded against Eddie so Eddie could feel every piece of Richie against every piece of himself. 

God, he’s fucking horny. 

He needs to get laid. That’s all this is.

The problem is, it looks like his most interesting and greatest prospect is his shit show of a receptionist. Well... _technically_ the whole office’s receptionist. With a shock to his gut, Eddie notes that his horny brain does not like the thought of Richie being the whole office’s anything. Or being anyone’s anything except _his._ His what, Eddie doesn’t know yet. 

But he definitely knows that Richie Tozier is his _something._

* * *

A week after the Mug Incident, as Eddie refers to it, things have only gotten more hostile. Eddie’s been extremely busy in the office and is trying his hardest not to think about or look at Richie, but when he does… It’s with a glare or a side-eye. He’s still trying to decide what to make of their interaction. Either Richie is even more of an asshole because he crossed a line and is basically daring Eddie to do something about it...

...Or Richie just really wants to fuck Eddie, too. 

The confusion is ballooning in Eddie’s brain, growing and growing until no other thoughts will fit. This headspace is where Eddie finds himself when he looks up at movement in his doorway to see Richie peek his head through the frame for the first time in weeks. Eddie swallows as he looks at the casual line of Richie's body in his doorway, his hairy arms showing beneath his rolled-up button-down, his thick neck dotted in the middle with a prominent adam's apple all covered in stubble. Like Richie shaves every morning but he can’t help some hair growing back by 6 o’clock, like he’s a real man. The kind of impressively visibly masculine man Sonia wanted Eddie to be. God, _fuck_ him.

Eddie takes in the way Richie’s tits fill out his matching chest pockets and says, “What?”

Richie smiles, with almost all of his very nice teeth, even the front one that's a little crooked. 

Richie looks keen, and raps his two knuckles on Eddie's doorway with a bob of his head that makes his curls bounce. 

Richie says, “Do you want to get drinks or something if you’ll be done soon? I can wait.”

The shock Eddie feels is akin to being dunked in an ice bath. What signs could he have possibly been giving Richie that would make him think Eddie would want to get _drinks_ with him? 

But… 

It’s winter, it will be dark out soon and Richie wants to ‘get drinks.’ Richie touched Eddie's bare arm and pressed his tits into Eddie's shoulder to get Eddie's mug and now he wants to get drinks at night. So, Richie wants to fuck him, too, then.

Eddie could do that. He could have Richie leave first, wait a block away, then meet Richie there so no one would suspect. They could get on the train together and go somewhere in Hell’s Kitchen, likely arguing the whole way. They could even start early and make out on the train so they wouldn't have to talk to each other. No one would know who they were, the city is so big. Maybe the train would be so packed from the after-work commuters that Richie would have to stand pressed into Eddie's side like he did in the break room. 

They could skip the bar entirely and Eddie could fuck the life out of him in Eddie’s Brooklyn walk-up. They wouldn’t talk about it or do it again after that to minimize the chances of either one of them getting into too much trouble. 

But.

“No, that’s not a good idea,” Eddie forces out. He almost hopes there’s a God, because he deserves to get into Heaven for how much of a good person he’s being right now. 

Richie looks confused, like he’s just been given a bone but then told to wait while it balances on his nose. Like he thinks he’s going to get in trouble. It’s cute (???)—dumb. 

“You said it’s only frowned upon, though.”

 _Something_ pulsates in Eddie’s chest as he realizes that maybe Richie wasn’t asking about the trainee after all. “I’m still very technically your boss. And head of HR. It’s more frowned upon for me than it would be for you or a trainee. Neither of you are very professional anyways. I have more of a reputation,” Eddie thinks of how he sometimes hears Richie and Bev talk to each other, how he sees them touch each other, still. 

“Yeah…” Richie jitters around a bit, and looks up at Eddie from under his springy bangs. “Isn’t that, like, kind of hot, though?”

“Listen,” Eddie speaks, the impatient strain in his voice evident, “I really don’t think—”

Richie sighs, loud and dramatic, “Yeah, I know, I know. Okay, I’ll get out of your hair, _boss._ ”

Richie turns and leaves.

* * *

Eddie ends up staying late for another forty-five minutes. He’s closing up his office, dreading the train commute to come. He would have only needed another ten or so from when he rejected Richie and sent him away, but he couldn't _focus._

All he could do was replay the interaction in his mind. He keeps waffling on his response. He even considered going up to the front to see if Richie hadn’t left yet, maybe taking him up on his offer to leave with him. He talks himself off that ledge three times before he finally finishes what he was working on and is able to leave. 

He can’t fuck Richie. It’s a stupid, horrible idea no matter what way he spins it in his mind. 

But, fuck, he wants to. 

Eddie’s brain is still spinning with the possibility as he walks to the bathroom on autopilot. His commute home is always long and draining, and from experience he knows he has to piss before he leaves.

He stops dead when he enters the room, the heavy door thudding shut behind him with finality.

Because it’s Richie, again. Just like in the breakroom, Richie’s back is to him. But this time it’s because he’s at a urinal. 

Eddie’s gut swoops low with nerves, but he walks forward. He can feel how hot his face is, and frankly, it’s embarrassing. Which just makes him blush more. 

Before he even realizes he’s doing it, he’s at the urinal directly next to Richie’s. He curses himself in his head, because that’s completely against fucking urinal etiquette. Let alone office urinal etiquette. The only people who piss in the urinal directly next to someone else are either fucking perverts or people cruising for a quick fuck. 

Eddie panics, fumbles with his fly while opening it. He can’t just move to the other one now, he’d look even more deranged. He plants his feet and tries to get it over with as fast as possible. 

Richie, next to him, hasn’t really moved or acknowledged that he knows Eddie is there at all. Eddie can hear his stream hitting the porcelain, and wishes he’d just hurry the fuck up and get out so they can both stop suffering this horrible interaction. 

Eddie’s bladder isn’t helping, his shot nerves apparently making him too tense to be able to go. He stands there and waits, thoughts flinging themselves rapidly all over his brain. He’s considering just packing it up and risking the dread of needing to piss on the train before he notices it's gotten pretty quiet. 

Quiet like Richie has stopped pissing and… he’s still standing there. Hasn’t moved an inch. 

Eddie’s heart throws itself against his ribcage a couple of times and he swallows. 

Eddie is a gay man in New York City. He knows the social cue of being alone in a bathroom with a man and them just fucking standing there when they’re done. But Eddie’s just standing there, too, isn’t he?

Tentatively, he peeks over out of the corner of his eye. Looking from his peripheral, he sees a flash of Richie’s soft cock resting gently on his heavy balls. Eddie looks back to his own urinal quickly, biting his lip so hard he tastes metal. 

Richie _snorts_.

And seriously, fuck him. What the fuck is he doing? Just standing there literally inviting Eddie to look and then laughing at him when he does? He said he was fucking done for the day, and—

Wait. He did say he was done, when he asked Eddie out. In Eddie’s flustered state, he didn’t even realize… 

“Why are you still here?” Eddie blurts out, still looking strictly ahead. He feels fucking stupid, standing there with his button undone and his zipper down. He’s not sure he ever even had to pee. 

“Uh, I was just finishing up some learning modules and surveys.”

There are not any current modules or surveys that the company has put out since the one that needed to be finished a month ago. 

_He was waiting for me,_ Eddie thinks.

Their elbows brush as Eddie shifts minimally to the side, to get a better look at what Richie is clearly presenting to him on purpose now. He wonders if Richie can feel the pounding heat that courses through his entire body where their biceps barely touch. 

Eddie’s skin feels too tight, his eyes alertly tracking where Richie swallows and angles his own head towards him by a fraction of an inch. Eddie feels like a fucking predatory cat or something, the way he’s stalking Richie’s movements to see when he’ll go belly up and Eddie can tear into his throat. 

He refuses to be the first one to break, he needs to know Richie wants him just as bad. If not more.

“Eddie…” His transfixed gaze is broken by how shattered Richie’s voice sounds.

Eddie’s eyes rapidly snap from Richie’s bobbing adam’s apple, to his eyes (so blue, pupils blown), back down to his cock (pink, soft—). No. Richie’s cock is filling out, going from baby pink to a deep rose color right in front of him. Richie’s getting half-hard just from Eddie looking at his cock. 

Eddie’s thoughts, heart, and the heat that was spreading to the ends of his body all halt like a car crash, and he just fucking can’t take it— he needs to— 

“Oh my god, fuck it,” he mumbles and within the next second he’s _on_ Richie. 

His previous thoughts all funnel into a mantra of _fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_ , no less frantic but definitely more simple. The thudding in his heart comes back tenfold, to the point he can feel his pulse pounding in his _neck_ — 

In the time it takes him to take the final step into Richie’s space and press him bodily up against the outside of the nearest stall door, he’s gone from soft to the hardest he can remember ever being. 

Richie’s big, stupid head falls back and thumps against the door. “ _Y_ _es_ ,” he says, with an amount of relief Eddie isn’t sure what to do with right now. Instead, he latches his teeth onto the space where Richie’s hulking shoulders meet his blotchy neck and _bites_.

Richie’s hips stutter into Eddie’s and they both gasp when their cocks brush, pants still undone. “Fuck, Eddie, oh my god—” Richie breathes out, sounding just as overwhelmed as Eddie feels. 

“Knew you’d be mouthy like this.” Eddie pushes the words into Richie’s spit-wet skin. Richie tries to arch his back, and get his cock back on Eddie’s, but Eddie grips his hands around Richie’s strong hips. He squeezes hard, and fuck, he has this layer of just… soft on top of all of his big stocky pieces that drives Eddie fucking crazy. Richie’s hips convulse under his fingertips, and Eddie hopes he’ll have bruises. 

Eddie pushes Richie’s hips back into the door, pinning him there while he works further on his neck, collarbone, shoulders. Richie whines and pants like a whore and all the sounds shoot straight into Eddie’s twitching dick, making him dizzy and even stupider. He starts sucking hickies and bites higher and higher up Richie’s neck, he doesn’t want him to be able to hide them, he wants everyone to see—

Eddie is stopped by a big hand encompassing the back of his head, pulling his hair and yanking his head back. The sharp pain is immediately soothed by Richie licking into his mouth, hot and wet and _dirty_. 

The stifled sounds of their moans penetrate the silence of the room. The air around them, previously thick with _want_ and _now_ , slows down into a steady thrum of _finally_. 

They kiss messy, with an urgency and passion that Eddie thought only existed in housewives’ romance novels. Their hands grip and drag over their clothes, searching desperately for skin until Richie’s hot palm runs over Eddie’s taut abs down to wrap around his cock. 

Richie grips firmly and Eddie’s forehead falls down to rest on his bare chest. At some point amidst all the frantic groping, Richie’s top four buttons got undone or, more likely, ripped open. Eddie breathes warm and damp into Richie’s thick chest hair. Eddie’s precome leaks and drips slowly down his shaft, but it’s not enough—he can’t stroke right like this. Eddie huffs in frustration and is about to pull away just to get Richie’s on his knees instead when Richie’s hand vanishes from his cock. Before Eddie can even fully let out his whimper at the loss, Richie spits an impressive loogie into his square hand and puts it right back around Eddie and _strokes_. 

Eddie’s brain is hazy with lust. His fingers dig harder into Richie’s hips as Richie jerks the length of his cock efficiently. Eddie is already so close, he lets his tongue poke out of his mouth where he’s pressed into Richie’s tits, and he savors the salty skin there. Richie tastes a little sweaty, he still has the whole fucking day on him, and thinking that kind of drives Eddie mad. He licks a broad stripe right over one of Richie’s nipples, delighting in the way his spit catches on the very edge of Richie’s open shirt. He wants— _needs_ Richie to look as fucked as possible. 

Richie groans and ups the already brutal pace on Eddie’s cock. He’s so close, his fucking knees are shaking. It’s fucking hot, fast, wrong, _perfect_ — 

Then Richie opens his mouth. 

“Thought about this so much,” Richie whines. Which slows Eddie down enough to wonder how the fuck he ended up panting into Richie’s tits like _he_ was the desperate one. When it was Richie who was basically begging to get fucked in the office bathroom, Richie who waited around for an hour just to catch Eddie walking out. 

Eddie straightens up fast enough to give himself a head rush. He reaches around Richie’s torso to open the stall door and pushes and tugs at Richie until they’re both safely tucked inside. Eddie locks the door behind him and rounds on Richie, pushing him against the wall. 

Eddie has one hand splayed out over the base of Richie’s throat, the other he brings to stroke his own dripping cock. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Eddie spits out, staring at the way Richie’s head falls back once again, exposing his chest and throat, showing off his bites and marks.

“Yeah, you gonna teach me a lesson, Mr. Kas-p-brak?” Richie’s over-pronunciation that _Eddie_ taught him makes Eddie see red with need. Eddie remembers who's supposed to be in charge. 

He steps closer to Richie, maintaining his hold on his torso, and brings their cocks back together. The first velvety brush of their cockheads has them both hissing while bringing their mouths back together like magnets. Their cocks bounce off of each other before Eddie presses his groin in hard, and with a delicious drag, grinds them together. 

Richie pulls back and spits into his hand again, lightning quick, and they’re right back at it, but Eddie likes— no, loves it so much better this time. Because instead of just taking Eddie into his broad hand, Richie’s long fingers take hold of them both. In one hand. What the _fuck_ is he so big for?

They both look down and watch as the heads of their cocks nuzzle up against each other in Richie’s grip, peeking out of his fist as he strokes from root to tip. 

Eddie gets a good look at Richie’s cock, fully hard and glistening for the first time and it’s big. Bigger than his own by at least a couple inches and thicker, too. He’s got a fucking porn star dick, a dick Eddie would fucking buy at the store just so he can ride it whenever he wants to. Eddie catches himself about to drool and licks his lips. 

They surge back together, mouths fastening wildly while Richie brings them off. Eddie can feel his balls tightening, ready to shoot. It’s to the vision swimming behind his clenched-shut eyes of his come squirting over Richie’s work shirt and landing on both of their cocks simultaneously that his orgasm reaches a crescendo. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants as his cock twitches and pulsates against Richie’s bigger one. All the blood in his body feels like it’s either filling up his cock or flooding his brain. Little bubbles of light burst behind his eyelids as he rocks his hips more and more and more while the last of his come dribbles out of the head. 

Eddie rests his head on Richie’s heaving chest once more as he tries to catch his breath and calm himself. 

He cracks open his eyes, blinking heavily against the instantaneous laziness he feels seeping into his muscles and bones. From his angled view, he can see where his translucent come is pooled between Richie’s fisted grip and their own cocks. Eddie’s not softening yet, knows from experience it will take a few minutes for his dick to come down. 

Richie still hasn’t come, he’s making these little pathetic whimpering noises as he jerks off his own fat cock with Eddie’s come, with Eddie still pressed into him. Eddie’s knees almost give out, but he uses his hand, grip gone lax, on the hollow of Richie’s neck to hold himself up. 

Richie stutters out a filthy moan at the flex of Eddie’s fingers around the thick cords of his neck. Eddie looks up into Richie’s eyes, glasses completely smudged to shit, but peering back at Eddie like he’s right on the edge, too. 

Eddie tightens his grip to the point that he knows Richie’s airflow is cutting off and packs as much spite into his voice as he can when he says, “Are you gonna come for me? Fucking come for me, Richie.”

Richie does.

The noise that comes out of Richie’s bruised, marked up throat is obscene, almost disgusting. It's a half-choke, half-whine that sounds like a wounded animal. Eddie darts forward and licks into Richie’s slack mouth as he chokes and comes and sputters. He pushes his own saliva into Richie’s mouth like it can replace the air he’s stealing and he mutters words like _so good for me_ , and _such a slut, Richie_ until Richie’s hips stop pumping and both of their previously decent work slacks are covered in dark, wet spots. 

Then it’s just… quiet. 

Shame hits Eddie like the train he should already be on. 

They very carefully tuck their respective wet, soft cocks back into their ruined pants.

They leave the bathroom without any words and head to separate exits. 

* * *

Richie calls in sick the next day. 

  
  
  


...And the next. 

  
  
  


Aaaaand then it’s the weekend. 

Eddie sighs around his mouthful of Raisin Bran at his breakfast island while scrolling through his phone with his pinky. Little flecks of milk land on his screen, distorting the colors into windows of techno greens and purples. 

He’s on Richie’s Facebook page, because of course he is. Richie has been sharing memes, publicly, despite taking two sick days. Something about the shamelessness of it is pissing Eddie off more. When he calls in sick, or even leaves early, he does NOT post on social media for anyone to see and know he was lying about whatever important reason he made up. It’s just common fucking sense. 

And, yeah, Eddie’s pissed off. He keeps rolling the memory of what they did around in his mind, dissecting it, searching for any signs that Richie didn’t want him. 

Otherwise, why the fuck would he call in if he’s healthy enough to share three _different_ memes about being a Pisces in the last—Eddie looks again—hour?!

As much as it makes him horny as fuck, he’s self-aware enough to admit, he doesn’t— didn’t want to… abuse his power or whatever. Richie is the one who started this whole thing, he’s been pushing and pushing and fucking— 

“ _Ugh_ ,” he says for no one to hear and closes that app to immediately pull up another one.

He calls Mike.

“Eddie, hiiiiiii,” Mike says. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I want to fuck my office’s receptionist. I’m a cliché,” Eddie whines.

“Again?”

“What do you mean ‘again’? I didn’t fuck Dottie, I—”

“I mean you definitely wanted to fuck Bill when he was, like, under your student council reign in high school.”

“He wasn’t my receptionist!”

“He did all your errands! You just like when they have to listen to you,” Mike laughs. 

“Maybe so,” Eddie says, distractedly pinning his phone in between his shoulder and ear. He grabs the oat milk and cold brew out of the fridge, kicks the door closed and carries on. “You don’t have all the information this time, though.”

“Mm.”

“Yeah, the thing is…” 

Pause. 

“We already exchanged hand jobs.” Eddie sets down his fridge bounty on the counter with a flourish, as if Mike was in the room to see his dramatics.

“Okay, so fuck him, then!”

“I can’t! First of all, he’s young—”

“ _How_ young?”

“Young enough to make people talk!”

“Oh, _heavens,_ not the _people_. Not them talking,” Mike teases flatly.

“Second!! Second of all,” Eddie bulldozes over Mike’s monotone voice, “he’s an asshole. He’s already so annoying. I can’t imagine how much worse it would be if I fuck him. And! Then he’d have _that,_ like hanging over me. He could extort me! If he doesn’t want to get in trouble for something, he could be like ‘oooh, I’ll tell on you!’” Eddie’s gesturing hands miss his cold coffee concoction by a hair, and he stomps over to his couch.

“Eddie, can’t he already do that with the hand jobs?”

“I—” Stumped at the thought, Eddie thinks. "Uh.”

“Exactly. Maybe just go with it. Worst case scenario, some awkwardness at work—”

“Well, he already called off—”

“ _Best case scenario_ ,” Mike interrupts, “you get married and stop bothering me.”

“Blegh. No,” Eddie huffs.

“Do you want to hang out or something? Or did you just want to call me to try and get me to talk you into fucking your secretary?”

“Goodbye.” Eddie hangs up.

But he does text Mike what time to come over. 

* * *

On Monday, Eddie walks into the office in a particularly favorable suit because he wants Richie to squirm. He knows Richie can’t call in again, because he checked his fucking time off balances, how about that, Richie. He goes to work in his best I’m-fucking-hot suit, and he knows Richie is going to be there. Finally, he'll treat Eddie with some respect. 

Entering the building, there he is, casual and calm as ever. Eddie even _smiles_ at Richie when he struts past his desk, he does his best Richie Tozier smirk. He tilts his chin down, smiles with his lips twisted in the way that pops his dimples at Richie and looks up through his eyelashes. 

Richie gives him nothing. Not even a nod. Just eye contact as Eddie passes by towards the main hallway. 

Okay, what the fuck.

Maybe it wasn’t as mind blowingly hot to Richie. Maybe he did want to fuck Eddie, but then was like, oh this guy sucks, and now is back to fully hating him. Again. 

But Eddie is not suffering through another duration of time where he has to walk on eggshells around one of his direct reports, who is everywhere in the office apparently. So, when he gets to his office, he plans a meeting.

He can apologize, Eddie thinks. Say, ‘Richie, I’m sorry if what I did made you uncomfortable. We can literally never talk about it again if that’s what you want. Please, don’t sue me.’ He can be the bigger man here. Richie sure as fuck isn’t going to.

Eddie gets his morning work out of the way before heading over to Richie’s desk. He doesn’t want this meeting to be on file if it all goes tits up. 

His brain is fizzy, effervescent syrupy liquid clinging to the inside of his temples and cheeks making his head feel light as he walks to Richie’s desk. 

“Mr. Tozier, could I speak with you for a minute?”

Richie looks up like a deer in headlights and Eddie can hear the click of his throat swallowing even over all the fax machines. 

“Uh, yeah,” Richie says, practically no more than a breath. 

Once safely back in Eddie’s office, he drops the pretense. He sits down in the chair behind his desk, across from Richie and sighs.

“Listen, I—”

“I need to apologize.”

And, uh. “Go on…” Eddie allows. 

“I’m sorry I called in, I’m sure that freaked you out and I’m sorry for,” Richie lowers his voice dramatically, “the bathroom. I shouldn’t have cornered you like that. I’m just—”

Richie lets out an aggravated little grunt and waves one hand around.

“— _frustrated_. I mean, this is stupid, right? We do not fucking get along, I think you’re, like, an annoying robot, you think I have, to quote Stan, the capability of a twelve-year-old. But.”

“But,” Eddie insists.

Richie levels him with an intense stare and Eddie flounders a bit. There’s so much heat in his expression.

“I want to fuck you, like, so bad, dude.”

“Oh my God, me too.” Eddie doesn’t finish the sentence before Richie is across the room climbing on top of him. He straddles Eddie in his ridiculous expensive ergonomic chair and they spin around a little just from the additional weight that is Richie’s huge body. 

They make out like teenagers, or like Eddie imagines teenagers would. He had never come close to making out with anyone when he was a little spastic overactive tattle-tale of a teen. 

“Can we fuck in here?” Richie says right into Eddie’s ear, causing little shivers to erupt all over his arms and neck. 

“I mean, no, but I don’t fucking care,” Eddie says back. He’s got his hands firmly planted over Richie’s ass cheeks, squeezing and kneading them while they dry hump each other. Richie is biting into Eddie’s earlobe following up with little kitten licks to soothe the sting. Eddie’s cock is so hard, pressed against the strain of his zipper, he just needs to pull his hands away from Richie’s ass long enough to— 

_Knock-knock!_

Richie leaps back like he’s attached to a bungee cord and Eddie wheels his chair swiftly back under his desk so his straining erection will be hidden. 

“Come in,” he calls and pretends not to notice how his voice sounds way too loud and forced.

It’s fucking Bob, because who else would knock with a tune. He’s an eighty-year-old balding fuck who is honestly the bane of Eddie’s existence. He was briefly replaced by Richie in that category, but now that Eddie can, apparently, get his hands on Richie’s cock if he wants, Bob is back to being the worst person in the building.

“Oh, sorry, guys. Didn’t realize you were having a meeting. Was just gonna remind ya of the open door thing, Ed,” Bob says, the ignorant asshole. 

“Yep! Last minute meeting. Didn’t put it in, I just grabbed Mr. Tozier right from his desk.”

“Alrighty, well, remember to open it back up when y’all are done. Stay out of trouble, Rich, jeez,” Bob teases like Richie is a naughty middle schooler. Eddie internally gags.

Bob leaves and Eddie feels like he’s been doused in freezing cold water. He looks at Richie, who looks at him. There they are, two idiots who could have almost gotten fired, just looking at each other. 

Richie breaks the silence, as he so often does, with a joke.

“‘Stay out of trouble, jeez.’” He’s doing a Bob voice. “If he only knew, I’m trying to get _under_ trouble. Right, Eds?” Richie waggles his eyebrows. 

Eddie lets his head fall on his desk.

“Get it, Eddie? Like, _you’re_ ‘trouble’? Like, I’m trying to get under—”

“Ugh!” Eddie flings his head up to exclaim. “That was so stupid. This is so bad. We have got to stop.”

“But we haven’t even started! I think we just gotta be more careful,” Richie waves a hand dismissively. Eddie can not believe he was just tongue fucking this absolute moron.

“Being more careful would mean not doing this at all,” Eddie insists while rubbing his temple. 

“Ha! You won’t be able to resist,” Richie grins and shrugs. 

Eddie decides steadfastly that Richie is wrong and doesn’t know shit. Eddie can resist whatever the fuck he wants, he’s great at resisting. _No one_ can deny that Eddie has impeccable self-control. 

Except, 

maybe, 

his mom, his therapist, both of his most recent exes… and probably Mike… _definitely_ Bill… 

Okay, well, Richie still isn’t right. 

Eddie can prove that. 

Eddie _will_ prove that. 


	2. ACT TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update early because [alec](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queermccoy/pseuds/queermccoy) is sick and I want to cheer them up <3

It goes like this.

One casual Friday, Richie wears a sweatshirt that says ‘I <3 My Boss.”

Eddie shoves him into a supply closet in a secluded hallway and fucks his throat so hard that he’s nervous someone will hear the wet, squelching sounds even through the thick wooden door.

He pulls out just as he’s about to come, thick ropes of spit connecting his angry-red cock with Richie’s puffy lips. He angles down and comes right in the middle of the heart decal. 

For the rest of the day, Eddie makes it a point to go to the farther printer so he can walk past Richie’s desk and look at the evidence of himself. He hears one of the analysts tease Richie about spilling something on his shirt, and he almost gets hard again at the way Richie blushes and stutters out, “Uh, yeah, clumsy me!”

Another time, on Employee Appreciation Day, they have some outside events. There’s lawn games at a park in walking distance and a couple paid-off food trucks. Richie shows up in shorts. Fucking shorts.

Eddie ends up fucking Richie’s thighs in the parking garage after that one. He gets Richie’s shorts down to cling to his knees and pushes him forward with a firm hand on the back of his neck until Richie’s forearms are braced against the cold, jagged concrete wall. He rubs up with some hand-size lotion and fucks in between the soft tight heat of Richie’s hairy slick thighs for only ten minutes before he’s shooting ropes of his come all across Richie’s brief-covered ass. Richie’s had to work the rest of the day with Eddie’s come drying on him twice now. 

Eddie sees these times as moments of weakness. They still don’t talk much, let alone talk about what they’re doing. It happens when it happens and then Eddie spends two to three days feeling like shit and until things go back to normal for a week or so. Then it will happen again. 

As it turns out, Richie was right (ugh). Eddie really can’t resist.

Despite this, they haven’t _fucked_ fucked yet. He hasn’t given in to the urge to bend Richie over and spear him open long and hard until he’s babbling with overstimulation. He also hasn’t given in to the need to have Richie’s fat cock pounding into his ass either.

This arbitrary line in the sand is comforting to Eddie when he really starts to feel sleazy about using Richie like this, whenever he wants to. Richie is never the one to pin Eddie into a wall or hurriedly whisper where to meet him to get his rocks off. 

Despite that, he knows Richie is happier than a fucking clam about it. Whenever they ‘accidentally’ run into each other in the hallway and Richie presses his hands into Eddie’s waist or lower back to ‘get around him’ with a smirk or a wink, he knows what he’s doing. He just wants Eddie to do it first. 

Which, speaking of, as much as they don’t speak outside of their… interactions, Richie _has_ been talking. Whenever Eddie has him alone, panting and moaning, Richie gabs and gabs about how _hot_ Eddie is, how much he _wants it_ , how much of a _whore_ he is for Eddie to be able to use him to get off like this. 

Once, when he really seemed to forget himself while Eddie was trying to suck his pure essence out of his cock in the supply closet again, Richie swallowed his moans and spoke in harsh whispers. Eddie’s lips were stretched thin across the thickest part of Richie’s perfect cock, right in the middle, and Richie’s shoulders were banging into the shelves behind him.

Eddie looked at his fingerprints from the time before on Richie’s tense thighs, and Richie started talking like he does when he’s close to coming.

“Fuck, fuck, your mouth, oh my god. It’s so hot, you just knew I wasn’t going to say no, huh? You don’t even ask me, it’s so fucking hot, I’m just like your toy or some shit. You can do whatever you want.” Richie comes in Eddie’s mouth, still talking. Eddie shuts him up by depositing the come-laced saliva past Richie’s lips for him to swallow before pushing Richie down to his knees, too. 

But. Eddie thinks about it. 

He thinks about how whenever Richie’s about to come he seems to push himself over the edge by going on about Eddie being in charge, Eddie being the boss, Richie being a slut, a toy, an _object_. 

So, if they’re going to only do this here, in the office, and it’s seemingly only going to be on Eddie’s terms (because that’s what Richie gets off to, anyways), then Eddie is going to take advantage of that.

After the last time they made out (they didn’t even come that time, just made out for five quick minutes and went back to their stations), Richie said Eddie should call a meeting. In his office.

Eddie hasn’t preplanned any of these rendezvous with Richie, they’ve all been on impulse. He has definitely not planned one in the guise of a meeting in his office, for obvious reasons. 

But. 

If it’s on the official calendar, no one will pop in and ask why Eddie’s door is closed, and they can have up to an hour to do whatever they want. Eddie was initially reluctant to this, not liking the idea of having a record of what they’re doing. But he’s getting more and more restless about wanting Richie.

They could just exchange numbers and fuck after work like regular people. 

But that’s not what Eddie wants, and given the hungry look frequently donning Richie’s face, he’s willing to wager it’s not what Richie wants either. If this is going to happen, if he’s going to risk his job for some ass like this, he wants to make it worth it. 

He wants to do it exactly how he wants. 

Higher risk, higher reward, Eddie thinks. He’s willing to throw the risk analyst course he took in college out the window to gamble on how good fucking Richie Tozier into his place will be. 

  
  


* * *

Eddie’s got hundreds of emails to sort through and starts scrolling with his pinky finger as he sits down. He makes sure to unbutton his jacket so it doesn’t bunch and wrinkle in anticipation for later. Filtering through the boring complaints that he can send the same generic response to, there is one that jumps off of his laptop like a cat catching a fly. An email with none other than Richard fucking Tozier in the subject line. 

At first, Eddie thinks it's probably a joke, Richie sent it or got one of his friends to send it. Eddie gets an awful taste in his mouth thinking Richie would have one of his friends on the inside of a joke about Eddie, but it’s possible. Eddie’s mind, previously floating through doing his mundane daily emails, feels speared with barbed tentacles as he recognizes the name of the email sender. Definitely not a joke.

It’s from an older crotchety woman who once complained about a fellow employee wearing pentagram socks. Once Eddie investigated, you could barely see them under the poor guy’s slacks anyways. Eddie’s sure that one had more to do about the sock wearer in question than his foot protection choices. Eddie’s been wishing this lady would get fired for years with her ‘don’t tread on me’ stickers, but the unfortunate truth is her type are more often the complainers than the ones being complained about.

Eddie sighs and leans back properly in his chair, ready to read whatever shit storm this woman is undoubtedly begging to stir up. Usually, he tries to go into these long emails keeping an open mind on both parties. But in this case one of the people is a hot man that Eddie wants to tie up and keep under his desk all day, and the other is a gremlin. 

**From:** **Hull, Meredith**

**To:** **Kaspbrak, Edward**

**Subject:** **Revolting Cafeteria Behavior (Richard Tozier)**

**Mr. Kaspbrak,**

**I would normally not do this**

(That's a lie, Eddie thinks.)

**but I was just outraged and disgusted at Mr. Tozier’s behavior in the cafeteria today.**

(Eddie checks to see when this was dated. Yesterday.) 

**I wasn’t even going to say anything, but I kept thinking about it more and more and now I am sending this email from home, as I was THAT disturbed.**

(Well, get a life, Meredith. Eddie chuckles thinking of Richie reading that line in one of his Voices that he has for almost everyone in the office. Richie pretends not to have a Voice for making fun of Eddie, and Eddie pretends he doesn’t think it’s funny.)

**Today around noon, when I usually go into the large breakroom to heat up my leftovers for lunch, I had the unfortunate luck to walk in at the same time as Mr. Tozier was having lunch with a girl that I do not know. I thought maybe she had been on the premises illegally, but I did notice she had a guest badge, something else to look into possibly, how he got his girlfriend in, which is what i am forced to assume she was because of the sheer vulgarity of the way they were speaking with each other!**

(Eddie’s stomach twists. Richie never said he wasn’t seeing Beverly, Eddie supposes. It’s not like they were talking dirty to each other in the cafeteria, probably. Right? Eddie shakes his head. Even if they were, it’s not his fucking business.)

**Now, mind you, I was no where near their table. I was a few feet away at one of the microwaves heating up my chili from last night, but I could still hear their repugnant conversation from all the way over there!**

**Before I get into the content, which I am aware I must give you no matter how much you’d not like to read it because it IS gross, I must warn you that you were mentioned and some of this is directly about YOU. I’m hoping for swift action against Mr. Tozier so this never happens again. I can not stress enough that I was shaken to my core that anyone would speak that way at our place of employment.**

**Here is a brief transcript of what was said, from what I can remember—**

* * *

Eddie sends the reply to Meredith’s email and shoots the word doc he saved to the hallway printer. The topic of conversation certainly wasn't work appropriate but luckily this whole thing isn’t enough to get Richie fired. Unluckily, he is going to have to issue his first written warning. 

But, fuck, if he isn’t excited to see Richie’s face when he realizes what he’s in for.

* * *

_Bing!_

**Meeting Reminder: With Richard Tozier in 10 minutes.**

* * *

Richie saunters into the office with all the confidence of a man who thinks he is going to finally get fucked in the ass at work. Eddie would feel bad for flipping the script on him so drastically, if he wasn’t so annoyed.

Eddie wouldn’t have cared. He would have minded his business. He would have dusted it off his shoulders, written it off as two friends chatting and accidentally being too loud and fucked Richie anyways. Until a thought started growing in the back of his mind, rapidly firing synapses every few seconds. He realized earlier that he could use this to wield the control that Richie is so desperately trying to give to him.

Now Richie is going to sit in Eddie’s mildly uncomfortable guest chair while Eddie stands in front of him leaning against his own desk in his hot three-piece suit.

Richie sits in the chair (he squirms, shifts his sturdy thighs under Eddie’s cold stare), and Eddie moves to stand in front of him. Earlier this morning, when Eddie was formulating his plan, he moved his desk forward a few inches just to be sure his crotch would be just a hair too close to Richie’s face. Eddie crosses his legs at the ankles as he leans on his desk and the tips of his expensive shoes brush the tips of Richie’s cheap ones. Richie looks specifically at the way Eddie is clutching the papers in his hands and lets out a low whistle.

“Soooo… this isn’t the meeting I thought it was going to be, huh?”

“I have no idea what you mean, Mr. Tozier,” Eddie says. He’s trying to sound offhanded, like he hasn’t thought about ‘what this was going to be’ for weeks now. 

“Hey!” Richie says, displeased. “What happened to ‘Richie’?”

“First names are for when you’re good.” Eddie can feel the _thump-thump_ of his heart in his ears because that was it. It was small, still subtle, but that’s it. Eddie’s dirty talked like this before, sure. But it’s different when neither one of their dicks are out and about to come. When he’s scolding Richie with the height difference in his favor for once. When they’re in a verified, on-the-books meeting. 

Richie’s mock-hurt expression melts into something genuine, something more excited, which brews an acidic taste in Eddie’s mouth. He wants Richie to feel bad. To learn his lesson.

“Please stop me if I'm wrong, Mr. Tozier, but you propositioned me, correct?” 

“I’m not sure you can prove that,” Richie snorts, voice going guarded like he's unsure if after all this time Eddie is going to pull the rug from under him and say, "Sike! This was an elaborate plot to fire you!"

Eddie sighs.

“Richie,” Eddie says a bit more gently, but only a little. He’s still mad. “I can prove whatever I want to.”

Richie hesitates. He hesitates enough for Eddie to get worried that maybe he read the situation wrong the whole time. This was so stupid. He’s going to have to get a new job. He’s going to have to move to a new city, because, sure New York City is big, but it can’t be guaranteed that he’ll never see Richie again—

Richie coughs. “I was. Propositioning you. Still am if it’s… on the table?” Richie’s voice goes high and nervous on the end, like he didn’t expect to get that far and is already questioning it.

Eddie straightens his spine into a rod and slips back into the role he wants to take for this. “Well, I don’t know if you deserve it, really. I got an email about you.”

Eddie would feel worse about the way Richie visibly shrinks if it wasn’t so hot that Eddie was the one making him do it.

“It was about you and Beverly at lunch.”

Richie’s features go through a journey of emotions starting with incertitude, then a quick spot of horror, before finally resting on apprehension.

“I was going to let you fuck me today. But then I got to read what you’ve been saying, apparently loud enough for people like Meredith to hear.”

“Eddie, I was—”

“Mr. Kaspbrak, please,” and, fuck, if that interruption doesn’t make Eddie's cock twitch in his ironed slacks. “You like this. I think the reason you’ve been touching me and flirting with me and letting me push you into closets is because you wanted something like this to happen. Am I far off?” 

Richie chokes. Eddie knew it. Validation is the sexiest feeling in the world.

“Don’t answer that. So, what’s going to happen is I’m going to read this email to you and you’re going to pay attention and answer any questions I have.”

Richie nods again, barely squeaks out a “Yes.” Eddie can't wait to hear his voice crack again like that around his cock. 

Eddie lifts the page to a better reading angle and shifts his hips against his desk. He says, “In case you’re unable to catch on, ‘R’ is you and ‘G’ is guest because Meredith also didn’t know who Beverly was.” Eddie checks for Richie’s eye contact, takes a deep breath and continues making sure to keep his voice even and disparaging.

“G: I can’t believe he called you in there like that. What a fucking tight-ass,” Richie is already starting to sink in his seat. 

“R: I wouldn’t mind fucking his tight ass, heyo.” Eddie looks up from the paper to connect with Richie’s eyes, which are almost squeezed shut with the way his face is crumpling. 

“G: yeah, shithead, everyone knows. You’d probably blow him under his desk while he has meetings and shit if he asked.”

R: I wish!”

Richie’s eyes have fully closed, one of his hands pinches the bridge of his nose. Eddie snaps his fingers. “Look at me when I’m talking.”

The blotchy spots all over Richie’s face and neck somehow get redder, but he looks up immediately. Eddie continues. 

“G: I don’t know, I still think it's weird that he called you in like that. Just about, like, fucking smiling at me. Why does he care if we fucked?

R: I know, it's not like I jerked off at the front desk or something.”

Richie hasn’t looked away since Eddie reprimanded him and pride bubbles up in his chest. Richie is as red as his sunburn from the pictures Eddie jerked off to. Eddie schools his face into something closer to disappointed. 

“I mean, I obviously have to give you the written warning. Mrs. Hull’s delicate sensibilities were clearly under attack here.” Eddie breaks for a moment and huffs out a small laugh through his nose. “I also can't imagine I have to tell you not to talk about being my cockwarmer in the middle of the fucking cafeteria. I thought you werent that fucking stupid, but apparently you need to be told that.” Eddie looks at Richie for a beat. Two beats. Three. 

“Especially if you intend to ever do it.” 

Richie’s body stills and his eyes widen. Like despite all the groping, all the kissing, all the fucking blowjobs— Despite them _literally_ just talking about it, he’s still shocked that Eddie wants this. Or like he’s scared. 

“Would that help you? Someone who would punish you if you didn’t listen?” The words come out rushed, a bit awkward. Eddie’s never done anything like this outside of his fantasies, never even entertained the idea that he’d _get_ to.

Richie’s body unthaws. His spine snaps straighter, his shoes shift on the stained carpet. “Yes. I’d _love_ that. Not too much, keeping in spirits of the deal, but I think I could really _benefit_ from that kind of approach. Respectfully.”

“Good. Then take your cock out.” Eddie hopes his face isn’t betraying his self-satisfaction at the way Richie balks. But also at the way Richie rushes to appease him, opening his own belt like the luckiest man in the world. 

As Richie is fumbling with his zipper, Eddie places the pages down behind him on his desk, taking a moment to make sure they’re in an orderly stack. He turns back to face Richie and adjusts so his ass is more seated on the desk, giving his thighs room to spread a couple inches. “You’re going to jerk off in front of me.”

Towards the end of his statement, Richie’s finally gets his fly open— and Jesus _Christ_ , Eddie is so horny that he almost decides to say _fuck it_ to the whole thing so he can lean down to take Richie into his throat. Despite all the times Eddie’s seen Richie’s cock at this point, it’s never been in such good lighting. Dark closets or darker fucking parking garages don’t really do Richie proper justice. Not when he’s on display so clearly for him now. It’s long enough, probably about nine inches, which Eddie knew from the times he’s had the first seven down his throat. But even the flare of the head is somehow hot, looking soft and spongy, glistening with an impressive sheen of precome already. 

Just from Eddie's words.

( _Fuck._ Okay. Focus. This isn’t what Richie _needs_.)

“Look at you.” Eddie’s unimpressed mask slips, the effects of Richie’s cock and eagerness to please and how big his pleading eyes look spindle into the gruffness of his voice. “I knew you were a slut. I could tell the first day.”

Richie whimpers on his upstroke, and Eddie is lost in it. He’s so enamored already, watching Richie’s firm grip move stiltedly over his shaft. 

But it’s not completely right. 

Eddie tears his eyes away from where Richie’s fingers rest at the base to look into his disgruntled face. Richie tries to stroke again, but— he can’t get it right.

As Richie keeps trying, Eddie’s horny-slow brain realizes it’s too dry. Riche’s big fist is snagging on the skin. Bewildered, Eddie thinks _‘well, spit on it, idiot, you’ll chafe like that.’_

But as Richie looks to him pleadingly, he also realizes Richie is waiting. To be told.

“Spit on it,” Eddie blurts. 

Richie lifts his knobby knuckled hand to his face, about to hock on it, but— 

No, that’s not what Eddie wants, he wants Richie messy, it’s gotta be more vulgar— 

“No, spit on your _cock,_ Richie.”

“Yeah.” Richie nods absently, clearly more focused on his task. His lips tuck into his teeth and he gathers spit in his mouth. He looks stupid, his cheeks bulging out where he’s pressing his tongue against them to get as much saliva as possible to pool. He leans over, placing both of his square palms on either side of his cock to shield his pants from the spit. He opens his lips just a few inches from his cockhead and lets the strings of drool drop and hit his red cock. He does it twice before he gets back to stroking. 

“Good,” Eddie says, feeling like he’s been punched in the fucking throat. 

Richie strokes for a couple minutes while Eddie watches and admires. He starts slow, but picks up speed after looking up to Eddie for approval. Eddie’s own cock is solid in his trousers, he’s just entertaining the idea of having Richie jerk him off at the same time when Richie stops abruptly and a defeated sound huffs past his lips. 

Eddie reaches his hand (smaller, no hair dusting his fingers, thick winding veins, and a gold pinky signet ring) up to cup the side of Richie’s sandpaper jaw. 

“Is this not enough? Do you need more?” The delicate skin on the palm of Eddie’s hand is rubbed raw as Richie nods urgently underneath. 

How long has Richie had to go without this? How long has he needed it? Eddie wonders if it’s as long as himself.

“Want me to tell you what you look like? Showing yourself off like this?” 

_Bingo_ , Eddie thinks as Richie’s thighs tense under his too-tight pants and his hips hump forward with a force that seems to surprise even Richie. Richie looks like he’s about to say something, but shuts himself up.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Not going to hear anymore out of your mouth I bet, unless it’s something I tell you to say, huh?” 

Eddie’s palm slides from Richie’s jaw, up to rest along the entire side of his face. His fingertips barely reach his hairline, the pad where fingers meet palm rests on Richie’s elegant (what the fuck, _elegant_?!) cheekbone, and the heel of Eddie’s hand presses into the sharp jawline. Richie nuzzles into Eddie like a house cat while humping the shit out of his own fist like a dog in heat. 

“That gives me an idea,” Eddie says, gripping Richie’s jaw particularly hard, so his mouth and lips purse cartoonishly. Eddie gives him a light kiss on his puckered lips before pushing his face away. 

With Richie still jerking off at a steady pace, Eddie moves to behind his desk. There’s not one single thing on the entire Earth he’d rather be looking at than where Richie’s masculine hand is stripping his ridiculously hot dick, but he manages to tear his gaze away and tries his best to turn his face into something indifferent. He just knows it will make Richie’s cock harder. 

(He knows what Richie needs.) 

Eddie opens one of the drawers on the left side of his desk to reveal an array of mundane office supplies. Richie mewls over in his designated spot, his hand slowing. All Eddie has to do is lift his gaze with a stern look, and Richie is promptly back to performing. God, Richie is going to be a blast. 

Eddie takes his time, poking around through the seemingly innocent objects until he finds what he’s looking for all the way at the bottom. Eddie wraps his slightly sweaty fingers around his device and walks back over to stand in front of Richie, even closer than before. Eddie can feel the heat of Richie’s body, casting out and pulling Eddie closer. 

Richie’s hand stills on his cock, preoccupied with curiosity. Eddie giggles. He should have anticipated Richie would be like this. If he let himself think deeply about what kind of— what kind of _sub_ (weird, thinking the word) Richie would be instead of jamming Richie’s likeness into his own dominating fantasies, he probably would have predicted most of this. 

Richie is too much, just like Eddie, but nothing like him at the same time. Eddie’s too much-ness revolves around wanting to _do_ , wanting to _act_ , in the face of always being forced into submission. 

Richie’s too much-ness seems to be almost completely reactive. He laughs too loud at people’s jokes, he can’t shut his mouth once someone acknowledges him. 

Eddie wants to be the only person causing any of Richie’s reactions. 

Richie’s ready to let Eddie do anything to him, Eddie can tell. Despite the sirens going off in Eddie’s head to claim, take, fuck, _ruin_ — he knows he wants to start slow, simple. If he eases Richie into things (eases himself as well; he’s not used to the power yet, no matter how much he wants to just let it out), they can build up to the, well. They’ll get to it.

Richie opens his mouth, but before he can ask what Eddie has behind his back, Eddie’s hold on his jaw returns. This time Richie’s mouth is caught open.

“I had an idea. Something that might help you shut the fuck up,” Eddie says, opening his palm in front of Richie’s face to reveal the glossy black binder clip. The kind with the silver metal pinchers that hold together the biggest chunks of paper. 

“Close your lips,” Eddie says. He’s gripping Richie’s chin, digging the tips of his fingers in so that Richie can’t follow the command. He lets Richie try anyway, and laughs at him for his troubles. 

“I know it’s hard. Here, let me help you,” one of Eddie’s hands pinches Richie’s bitten-red lips closed, feeling the hard dots of stubble on his surrounding skin. The other hand lifts the binder clip, pried open, to Richie’s mashed together lips.

Richie looks fucking debauched. His work khakis are tucked underneath his heavy balls, his protruding dick is wet with his own spit and precome. His mouth is angry red, buttoned shut by a binder clip that Eddie can use later to file this report against Richie as ‘closed.’ Whimpering and moaning from in between the relentless press of the clip, he’s clearly so fucking slutty for it. 

Eddie thinks Richie has never looked this sexy. He looks embarrassing. 

“Are you that hard just from being told to shut up?” Eddie teases. “It’s a good thing Meredith has a filter, unlike you. If everyone told you to shut the fuck up when they didn’t want to hear you, you’d get hard everywhere. Then what would people think?” 

Richie’s moan is alarmingly loud and Eddie thinks about soundproofing his office for future escapades, which reminds him… 

“That’s right, you wanted to know what you look like.” Eddie grabs his phone from his desk and snaps a picture of Richie. He turns it to face the man himself.

Richie whines and lurches forward, begging physically to nuzzle his face into Eddie’s hard cock trapped in his suit pants. Eddie weaves his hand through the slightly damp curls on the top of Richie’s head and pulls, tossing his phone back on his desk. 

Richie gasps out an aborted breath, as much air as he can get through the little openings at the corners of his mouth where his lips aren’t cinched shut. 

Still gripping Richie’s hair, Eddie pulls and prods at Richie’s red, swollen lips. The clip has only been on for a couple minutes, but Eddie knows he needs to use it again. The unrelenting grasp quickly transforms Richie’s thin lips into something more likely to be on a blow up doll. Red and puffy. Sensitive, too, he’s sure, based on the little mewls Richie lets out as Eddie moves them around with the hard plastic and metal. Eddie grabs the metal loops and pulls and jiggles. Richie releases some pained whimpers, but his fat cock hasn’t gone down an inch since Eddie started. 

“Maybe I should send you back out there like this, so you can’t harass anyone else. I bet no one would even question it,” but even as he says it, Eddie is already unclamping Richie’s abused lips. 

“Please—” Richie starts begging the second his mouth is free, but Eddie won’t have that, not after he was supposed to be learning his lesson. Eddie slaps Richie’s cheek, not with much force, but enough to snap him back into place, enough to remind him he’s supposed to be listening, not yammering on like usual.

Eddie knows Richie’s lips are going to be numb for a few minutes, and has an idea. “If you can get my pants open with just your mouth, you can suck my cock.”

Richie surges into action, using his teeth and clumsily nipping at Eddie's pants button. He groans, frustrated when he just can’t get a hold enough to release the button from the loop. Richie gets the light fabric around Eddie’s button dark with spit before Eddie holds Richie's head in place and grinds his clothed heated erection against Richie's slack mouth. He knew Richie wouldn’t be able to do it, he just wanted to see him try.

“Do you want this?” Eddie pants as he contorts the skin of Richie’s face with his cock. He uses the firm bulge to push Richie’s nose up, shift his cheeks in different directions. Richie makes noises from the back of his throat that Eddie wants to eat and he taps on Eddie’s thigh. Eddie takes it as the indication he wants to speak. “Go ahead.”

Words pour out of Richie like Eddie just turned on a tap. “Please, Eddie, Eds, I’m going to— fuck. I’m going to fucking come, please let me come, can I come?”

Eddie’s cock throbs. He doesn't know how long Richie has been in his office, but he knows that they should probably get this done quicker rather than later to dispel any suspicions. He’d love to keep Richie in here all day, occasionally grinding his own erection against Richie’s handsome face, maybe edge him for a few hours, too… but he’ll have to do that a different day. He didn’t even fully plan to go this far today, but fuck. Richie is just so appeasing. 

“You can come, make sure it doesn't get anywhere,” Eddie grits out. As much as he’d like a reminder in the form of Richie’s come stain on his shitty chair or floor, he needs to step back and try to think logically. 

To Eddie’s surprise, Richie nuzzles back into his groin before continuing. As Richie strips his own cock incredibly fast, with twists and flicks to his wrist and forearm, Eddie realizes he is seeing how Richie does it when he’s alone. He burns with a desperate need to know if Richie has thought about him, despite being sure of the answer.

Richie opens his mouth and Eddie feels a warm dampness close around his covered cockhead. Richie breathes on it, tonguing at it and Eddie humps forward. Richie moans and Eddie realizes _this_ is what Richie wants. He wants Eddie to hump his face while he comes. 

Richie shudders violently under Eddie’s grip on his hair, his shoulder. Eddie’s eyes zero in on the twitching of Richie’s fat cock and he says, “You look like a slut, Richie.”

Richie’s orgasm shoots out of him along with energy waves Eddie can almost feel against his skin. Eddie buzzes with power as Richie lets out a starry-eyed moan with his face pressed directly into Eddie’s groin. Richie angles his own cock into his cupped palm, taking care to shoot all his come into the little enclosure he makes. It fills up impressively. Eddie thinks about it as another way Richie is manlier than him. How he wants to own Richie, just to prove all of Richie’s masculine traits doesn’t inherently make him the superior. He wants to feel all of Richie filling him up, on strictly his own terms. Eddie’s balls get even tighter against where they’re resting on Richie’s eye socket. 

Once Richie has filled his own palm with come, his chest moves with rapid up and down motions as he pants and tries to calm down. Eddie needs to come and he needs to come immediately, he can’t stop looking at Richie’s cupped palm. How he collected his own come, figured out how to not make a mess without being explained to. He’s such a good boy. Eddie didn't even tell him to do that, he just came up with it on his own.

“Richie, Rich, here—” Eddie tries to manhandle Richie into sitting up straighter, he’s slumped from his orgasm. “Wait, careful, don’t drop that,” Eddie refers to the come in his hand.

Eddie’s fingers shake as he moves to open his own button. Feeling how wet it is still with Richie’s saliva, he shudders. “Fuck, okay, keep your hands to yourself, Richie.” Eddie nails him with another firm stare, barely meaning it. Richie smiles a little, like he can't help it.

Eddie pulls his own cock out—finally, fucking _finally_ —knowing he’s only three or four strokes away from coming. God, just the sight of Richie sitting there, face and legs wide open, pleasantly sated. His wet, soft dick still exposed for Eddie. 

He just needs something— not much, just—

“Richie.” Eddie snaps with one hand, kneading his tight balls with the other. “Hold out your hand, _yeah._ Like that.”

Richie pushes his right palm out for Eddie, still cradling the pool of his own come. Richie is dazed, blinking up at Eddie from behind his dirty glasses and his fingers twitch gently. Eddie grips around Richie’s wrist to keep it steady— yeah, _there,_ right where Eddie needs it. 

Eddie angles his twitching cock— just one more twist on the head and— 

He looks at Richie’s face and notices with pride that Richie’s eyes are glued to Eddie’s cock, but Richie’s other hand… _fuck._

Richie’s other hand is sliding back down to where his dick lies, looking on its way to half hard again already. Eddie’s eyes try to clench shut, but he can’t miss it. He wants to keep the visual of the depravity of this act in a vault in his mind. As soon as he looks back to Richie’s eyes— 

“Please,” Richie exhales the word softly.

“Fuu- _uck,_ ” Eddie groans from somewhere deep in his gut as he watches his come paint the undersides of Richie’s long fingers, the inside of his wrist where the skin is thin and delicate and just barely dusted with hair. Eddie makes sure to let the bulk of his come land right on top of Richie’s own, wishing he could see the sticky white wetness of them both mix together in higher definition. 

It feels like Eddie’s entire nervous system is pulled out through his dick and has collapsed into Richie’s enclosed palm. The room is quiet, besides their breathing. Now that Eddie’s come, he feels… awkward. In a way he hasn’t since they first started.

He’s already trying to decide when the next time is that they can do this again. 

Richie sits with his dick still out. Eddie looks towards it pointedly while tucking himself back into his pants. He turns around to grab a few tissues from his desk for all of the come (fuck, it’s still warm) in his hand and on his wrist.

When Eddie twists back around, starting to outstretch his arm towards Richie to hand him the tissues, his offer halts in his throat, diaphragm freezing as he watches Richie lick their mingling come out of his own hand. 

Richie’s tongue glistens and shines under the lights as it curls and collects the pool of their fucking— their conjoined come into his mouth. 

He swallows it and says, “Ah,” like he’s at the dentist, with a wolfish smile towards Eddie. Like, he’s meaning to be funny and not trying to keep Eddie’s cock hard for the rest of his life.

“Fuck, Richie.” Eddie hopes that his voice doesn’t sound like he is ruined for anyone else, because that’s exactly what he’s thinking. 

“Maybe next time!” Richie laughs, sounding a little unhinged, and puts his dick away at last now that his hand is free from come. 

“With that cock, I want you fucking me,” Eddie quips back. “Are you okay to, like, go out to your desk? Do you need the rest of the day off?” 

“While that was one-hundred percent the best orgasm of my life, I can definitely manage to work for the rest of the day.”

“Good. Okay.”

“...Are you… good, too?” Richie stands up, casts a glance at Eddie like he’s concerned, which given the circumstances seems absurd.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good. Sorry, I’ve never done that before,” Eddie trails off. “...you were, um, are okay… with all the stuff… that happened?”

“‘The stuff?’ Eddie, I am more than okay with whatever stuff.” Richie searches his face, curiously. “Do you want to, like, go out later? Or can I get your number? We can just talk about this more, so that you don’t look like someone shit in your favorite toilet next...time…?” 

Eddie’s heart warms, but he isn’t sure. Despite admittedly hating Richie (slightly) less now, he doesn't know if he wants this thing with him to grow outside of work. He’s struck with the thought, though, that Richie doesn't sound sure that Eddie wants to do this again, and that needs to be rectified.

A number couldn’t hurt, that could be manageable. “Do you have your phone on you?”

Richie hands it over wordlessly, already open to the contacts page. Eddie puts himself in, hands it back.

Richie looks down before locking his phone and snorts, “Who the fuck is Francis?”

Ugh. “It’s my middle name. For like, covert reasons. Obviously.” 

“Oh, _obviously_ ,” Richie rolls his eyes at him, “yeah, no, I gotta change that. I wanna like, sext, but not to Francis.”

“We are not sexting, we can discuss the nature of our relationship on the phone so there’s no chat record. And don’t— what are you doi— don't put my real name on there.”

“Eddie, if anyone looks into this, they will see your actual phone number. It won't matter if it's under the name Francis, they'll know it's you. It doesn't take a decoder to crack this.” Richie smiles. Eddie is struck dumb. Because… Richie looks fond, like Eddie is a cute kitten trying to bite his hand or something. 

“Alright, Mr. Tozier. Back to your desk,” Eddie tries. 

Richie stands so tall. Before he leaves, he leans down and kisses Eddie's cheek with a loud smack. Like they are in a Disney movie or some shit, seriously. The audacity. 

Then Eddie’s alone.

Eddie is taken aback by how easy that was. How easy this whole thing has been. It’s been _months_ and he’s barely realized it.

He had amped it up in his head to be this big deal, he’d do a bad job and Richie would hate it, or he made it all up in his head, and Richie would make fun of him. 

But it was easy to slip into this place, it was easy to be that way with Richie. It was so fucking hot, so hot, Eddie is never going to think of anything else again. Awkward briefly afterwards, but Richie fixed it so quickly with a joke, disarming Eddie so smoothly that he didn't even notice until they were back to gently mocking and teasing each other.

When had that started?

When had their heated jabs and deliberately hurtful remarks turn into… whatever this is?

Apparently, even if you only say one or two sentences to each other after mutual orgasms over months, even that can accumulate into a familiarity without Eddie caring to notice. But Eddie’s not in the business of noticing people. 

Eddie looks at where there's still a slight ass-print in his chair from Richie and wants him back immediately.

_Bzzzzzz._

Eddie picks up his phone, looking at the notification. It can really only be one person. 

**Unknown number:**

**Hey francis ;)**

**Eddie:** **  
** **Put your phone away at your desk, someone might complain**

**Unknown number:**

**Oh no ;) don’t want to end up in HR again ;) ;) ;P**

Eddie catches himself smiling at his phone, and promptly turns it off.

* * *

Eddie is sitting on his couch later that night with a quick pasta he whipped up on the coffee table in front of him rapidly cooling as he tries to find something to watch on Netflix. He wants a documentary, but nothing too, like, biased. 

Or too dark.

Or too… Well, maybe not a documentary then. 

He can watch TLC and get reality TV that won’t make him as depressed. If anyone at work happens to ask him what he watched over the weekend at home, he can say the Scientology documentary if he needs to sound smart.

He’s just about to press play when he hears the chimes of his ringtone. He looks at the time on the TV, bewildered, because well… it's dark out. Eddie’s not particularly interesting enough to have anyone call his phone at night on a weekday. Or any day really.

He picks up his phone without checking who it is, assuming it’s probably his mom or Mike. He answers with his mouth full of fettuccine, “‘Ewwo?”

“Geez, sounds like you got a mouth full of dicks.” 

Fuck, Richie? Fuck… he didn't expect him to call, really. Well, he told him to, but.

Still, what the fuck. Why wouldn't he warn ahead of time. What psycho cold-calls people?

“Uh… Eddie?” 

Eddie swallows his food.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. I didn’t really… expect you.” Eddie sounds nervous, like he’s being hit up for cash. He tries to chill the fuck out.

“I can call back… or whatever,” Richie says, uncertain. Eddie feels bad again, he always makes things weird. He doesn’t know how to be a normal fucking person. This is why their not-talking arrangement is—was?—good. 

“No, it’s okay,” Eddie grits out. “Um, what's up?”

“Nothin’, nothin’. Just hanging out with Marty, that’s my cat. And about to smoke a joint, I can say that, right? Off the record,” Richie giggles. Eddie’s ribcage constricts.

“We don’t even drug test. No one cares about weed.”

“Soooooo, you smoke then, or nah?”

“...Nah.” Eddie feels like he’s eighty-seven years old, hobbling around with a cane and forgetting people’s names.

“Sucks, Eds, I think it could really chill you out. I think you’d be even hotter if you smoked before you fucked me. You’d forget to hold anything back.” 

Eddie’s breathing picks up. “We should talk about it, probably. That was really kind of a lot… for not talking about it first.”

“Of course _you_ would be worried about _this_ being inappropriate after ambushing me at work for months. Very you. Very cute.”

“Like you know me or something,” Eddie comes out bristled, defensive.

“Yeah, you’re right. I guess I don't really. Not personally anyways, but there's a lot you learn from being a guy’s receptionist, ya know. And touching his dick a few dozen times definitely helps.”

Eddie wonders what exactly Richie has deduced. Probably that Eddie’s an insufferable, tightly wound control freak. No one really wants to talk to him at work, but Richie has been pushing to be on familiar terms since day one, in his own way. Even if his own way is to be fucking annoying. 

“...So, you’re not going to make me sign some weird sex contract or something, right?”

“Uh. No? Should I? I’ve never done this before. Have you?” Eddie doesn't know much about Richie’s experience, past or present. He doesn’t even know if Richie is fucking other people. Eddie isn’t, but that’s more out of convenience. Richie is surely liked and sociable enough to be fucking other people. Eddie clenches his hands. He really doesn’t want that to be the case. 

“No,'' Richie laughs. “No, nevermind. I was making a Fifty Shades reference. Maybe we should watch it just to figure out exactly how this shouldn't go.”

“Aren't I the one who’s supposed to make the rules?”

Richie quiets for longer than expected, the usual whip-fast reactor. “Hell yeah. Do you have anything in mind?”

Eddie's brain expands. He can think of tons of things. He just feels lost, like he doesn't have any ground beneath him. Richie is an open book as long as it’s a joke book. Anything deeper, and he becomes as hard to read as a college student’s screenplay. Eddie wants to make this good for Richie, too. As long as he gets to watch him cry. 

“I want to know what you want. It would make it easier for me. So, that I can just, kind of, wing it without being worried. If I know where you’re coming from...”

“Yeah, sure, sure. For sure. Um.” Richie sounds distracted, like he's thinking. Richie has never previously given the impression that he's giving actual thought to his words. Eddie’s going to have to get used to him sounding like that. “I don't really know what to say, this is weirder than I thought. I just think you’re hot, obviously. Or I wouldn’t let you fuck me like, once a week. And, honestly, I kind of thought we’d fuck at work since the beginning, you are _not_ as subtle as you think you are. But I didn't think we’d do this—”

“Richie, you know if I overstepped and—” Eddie’s face heats and his heart bangs against his ribs. He shouldn’t have assumed. He got too caught up to the point that he didn't even care if Richie didn’t want it. Eddie just wanted to be wanted and forced Richie to— 

“No! No, I definitely am down. Completely. I’m just saying, I thought maybe we would go on a date and like fuck after and not talk about it. This is way better. I like this way better,” Richie says, rushing to clarify. “Although, I wouldn't really be _opposed_ to a date.”

“That’s a stupid idea. We don’t even like each other.” 

A suspicious beat of silence.

“Yeah, guess we don’t.”

“Plus, I mean.” Eddie scrubs his hand down his face. “I don’t really want to fuck up what we’re already doing. Not to sound fucking desperate but the sex is really good.”

“Exactly! The sex is so good, what if we went on a date and we did like each other—”

Eddie sighs, “So what, we could get serious, then we’d have to tell work, risk our jobs, or one of us would have to quit and—”

“So, you're saying the only two outcomes are we hate each other and don’t fuck anymore or get married and we have to tell work? Have you never, like, casually dated?”

“I don't really _casually_ do anything,” Eddie mutters, he’s trying to let Richie down easy, but he’s _relentless_. “I just think it would be simpler to compartmentalize it.”

“Yes, sir!” Richie’s voice is sarcastically militant, but it still makes Eddie bite his lip. “So, best you’ve ever had, huh?” Eddie can hear the grin in Richie's voice.

“I didn't say that,” Eddie groans. Richie is, though. Even just talking to him, tiptoeing around the subject is enough to give his dick an interested twitch. 

“Well, it was for me. Don’t get me wrong, our illicit work affair has been hot as fuck, but I had no idea I could come like that. Felt like, I don't know, like I was floating or some shit. That sounds stupid,” Richie laughs. “But really. I was thinking about it earlier—”

“Yeah?”

“—and, yeah. I can't believe you didn't even touch my dick and it felt like that. Crazy, man.”

This is the most open channel of communication they’ve ever had. Every time at work, they’d get off and instantly separate. The fact that Eddie doesn’t have to see Richie’s face or look into his eyes makes him bolder. Reminds him of something he’s always wanted to ask since he first had Richie panting against him in the bathroom.

“You said you thought about it? Before we did anything?”

“Kind of. I thought about fucking you, sure. A lot. I thought you might be a good fuck because of your whole… thing. But I definitely didn't expect it to feel like that. It was so intense, especially in your office. Is it like that for you, too?” Richie’s voice sounds bewildered, in awe.

“Yeah, it was,” Eddie is trying to keep his words tight, not to embarrass or over expose himself.

“I’m getting hard just thinking about it,” Richie's voice drops, lower and gruffer 

“I said no sexting,” Eddie blurts, instantly embarrassed but Richie just laughs warmly.

“This isn't sexting! I was trying to have phone sex with you, can you blame me? I can't stop thinking about you.” Richie’s voice is earnest, sweet almost. Eddie might be in more trouble than he thought. 

“I can't stop thinking about it either,” he admits. “I jerked off to your Facebook.”

Silence. Why would he willingly admit that, what the f— 

“That’s so fucking hot, really? Ugggggh,” Richie groans. “Can I just come over? I promise I can make it worth it. C’mon, I'm suffering here,” Richie whines. Eddie wonders what he’s doing on his end of the line. 

“What would you want to do if you were here?” Eddie opts to sidestep the question completely.

“Anything. Suck your dick, ride you, fuck you, whatever you want. I just need—”

“What do you _need_?” (He knows what Richie needs.)

“I just need to be good. For you,'' Richie is quieter, like he's bashful at the admission. Sounding slightly uncomfortable for the first time.

“You’re really good. You were so good at work, Richie,” Eddie throws him a bone, feeling his cock fill out. He didn't know he was into praise, but maybe. “If I had you come over here, and just let you keep my cock warm while I watch something, you’d still come, wouldn't you?”

“Yes,” Richie breathes. 

“Are you touching yourself?”

“...Yes.”

“I didn't say you could,” Eddie adds a warning tone in his voice.

“Well, you’re not here to stop me, are you?”

“You’re a lot brattier over the phone.”

“Maybe I just want to see what you’ll do,” Richie says, tone defiant.

“You're just trying to get me to snap and let you come over.” Eddie won’t let Richie know how close he is to doing just that. “I was considering it, but not anymore. I was going to let you come on the phone but—”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, I'll be good, please,” Richie begs. “Do you want me to tell you about the first time I jerked off to you? I can do that.” 

Eddie’s thigh muscles tense, he looks down and sees the very apparent bulge in his sweatpants.

“If you want it so bad. But you can't touch yourself while you tell me,” Eddie says.

“Okay,'' Richie gulps, Eddie can hear him. “It was after my first day, I hadn’t even talked to you yet. I don't even think you knew who I was. It was a little while before our first meeting. I wasn't expecting to get on your radar at all.”

Eddie remembers seeing Richie at the front desk before he had to have his first meeting. He never much took notice of him, besides noting that there was a different person there than there had been before.

“Well, I just. I thought you were so hot. I mean, you are. You’re really fucking hot, Eddie,” Richie laughs. “I'm sure you know. But anyways. I saw you a few times. I don't know if you remember? But once we went to the water cooler around the same time?”

Richie pauses, Eddie realizes he's asking if Eddie remembers. He doesn't. “Keep going,” he says to get out of confirming. He wants to hear Richie tell his story without the embarrassment of knowing their interaction wasn’t notable at all to Eddie. 

“Right, sorry. You were on the phone, but our hands touched when we both went to grab those shitty little paper cups— this sounds so stupid.” Richie’s voice reeks of self-deprecation. “But you weren't paying any attention to me, which is my type. And you had just the tightest ass in your little pants, and you sounded so fucking mean on the phone, I don’t know who you were talking to but you were laying into them. When our hands touched you angled the phone away from your mouth and um. You looked at me with your big ass eyes, I was kind of struck in place and you were just like, um. ‘Go ahead.’”

Eddie lets it sink in. That Richie had a huge fucking crush on him before Eddie even registered his existence. Richie had a crush on Eddie and as soon as he actually talked to Eddie, he went straight to hating Eddie. Because Eddie is fucking annoying, in Richie’s owns words. Eddie doesn't often think about other people's feelings or thoughts (especially at work) but this hits him over the head with a cartoonish _BONK_. 

“And?”

“And then I went to the bathroom and jerked off into the toilet thinking about you like, coming in there and catching me or something. You just seemed important and… commanding,” Richie mumbles. “I wanted to impress you.”

Eddie’s cock is fully hard now.

“So you got in trouble? Was it on purpose?”

“Once I found out what your job title was, I can say I was a little less careful with my words, yeah,” Richie seems bashful again. 

“That doesn't sound like impressing me though,” Eddie reasons.

“Hey! Any press is good press. It worked anyways, though, huh?”

“Yeah, _you’re_ not very subtle either. But I guess sluts usually aren’t,” Eddie says, offhandedly on purpose. Richie’s breath hitches. Got him. “So, that's what you need? You need me to show you what a slut you are?” Richie squeaks out a little moan. “Or do you already know? With the way you’ve been begging me to fuck you, you must know already, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Richie says, his voice wavering.

“Say it then.”

“I’m… a slut.” It sounds unsure, unsteady. Eddie can’t wait to knock that doubt out of him.

“You don’t sound like you mean it, do I need to prove it to you again? I still have the picture I took. Someone who wasn't a slut wouldn't have eaten a handful of come at work, Richie.”

Richie whines high and tight, the noise going straight to Eddie's balls. He gets up to get lube from his bedroom, keeping up the conversation. 

“I’m a slut,” Richie says. A little better.

“Can’t you even try to sound like you mean it?”

“I’m a slut,” Richie says, with a lot more conviction. Almost like those twinks say it in porn. 

“Good, I just don’t want it to be hard for you like everything else is. You should be able to just say what you are without sounding confused, at least.” Eddie’s not sure the whole treating Richie stupid thing is up there on Richie’s kink list but if not, he should try to sound less stupid.

“I’m sorry,” Richie says, sounding pathetic. 

“What if you worked on it harder? I could…'' Eddie grabs the lube and heads to his bed. “I could give you a routine. I want you to only come with me, at work. If you want to come at home, you have to ask my permission first, and I’ll only let you come if you say you’re a slut first.”

“Okay,” Richie sounds gutted. “Can I…” A subtle switch noise like Richie is adjusting, moving. Eddie almost wants to tell him he can't even do that without asking. “Can I, um, do that now? We can use FaceTime?”

Eddie looks down at the lube already open in his hand and says, “If you just can't stop yourself any longer, we can try it now.” Internally, Eddie is delighted, satisfied, he was getting too worked up thinking about Richie degrading himself so that he’d be able to say it easier for Eddie. But he needs to pretend otherwise with Richie, it will just make him hotter for it. 

“Wait, Richie, do you have any toys?” 

“Yeah, uh, I can send you a picture of my box.”

Eddie's phone buzzes with the alert that Richie sent him a picture. He looks and sees a cloth box, with less than he was expecting. There's nipple clamps, which make Eddie take a mental note for the binder clips at work. Two dildos, one with a suction cup that looks big and girthy and one smaller that has a matching remote, a prostate vibrator more likely. There's graduating butt plugs, a ball gag and a fleshlight. 

“It’s kind of a waste to have the dildos and shit when you’re clearly made to fuck with that dick,” Eddie says while still looking at the picture. “Grab the fleshlight.” 

The phone buzzes again, alerting him that Richie is switching to video call. He accepts and adjusts himself so that he can see his little face in the corner while Richie comes to life on the main screen. 

Eddie smooths down his hair, struck with the realization that Richie has only ever seen it greased back for work. It's currently in its fluffy wavy state, with less of a harsh part. Richie’s camera is moving around, catching glimpses of the floor, a counter, a sink and— Oh. He's really going in the bathroom to the mirror already. 

Richie comes into view from the thighs up, he has his phone propped up somewhere to the right of him. He’s got on a t-shirt too, a little too small and it rides up his belly, with grey sweat shorts that do nothing to hide the exact shape of his cock. He’s looking down and biting his lip. 

Richie is so good at looking so small despite being fucking gigantic. Eddie is so fucking screwed. 

Richie looks at the phone from under his lashes. 

“I like your hair,” he says.

“Take your clothes off,” Eddie says.

Eddie sees the way Richie’s throat bobs on screen, and he nods. He pulls his shirt off from the back first, then shimmies out of his shorts. There's nothing underneath them. Christ. 

The closest Eddie has come to seeing Richie _fully_ naked is the beach pictures. Eddie almost regrets not waiting until it was in person, because of how much he wants to grab and feel the body on display for him. He's just standing there, facing the camera, flushed red. He’s presenting himself for Eddie.

Richie’s body is perfect. He’s hairy everywhere and he's got just the right amount of thickness to him. His limbs are long and plush. He has big, strong legs and thighs, like he can put so much power into his thrusts. He’s got the cutest pouch to his tummy and the perfect handful to his tits. Even his nipples are pink and puffy and begging to be pinched and pulled. Eddie’s fingers twitch. He's supposed to be judging Richie, deeming him good enough.

His eyes home back in on Richie’s cock. He looks at it pointedly so that Richie will know he's staring. “You look like you’re made for me, Richie. You were fucking made for it, with that cock.”

Richie burns even redder, Eddie loves the splotchy patches of his skin. He wants to turn them all into individual hickeys, so even when Richie calms down and the color returns to normal, all the spots where he was red will stay for weeks. 

“I want to see if you know how to use that big dick. Can you show me, baby?”

Richie inhales quickly, a soft gasp at being called baby, presumably. Eddie feels soft. He's already getting too sentimental in this state. Maybe he’ll take some screenshots…

“Can I use lube?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I want you to imagine it’s me, okay?”

“Yes,” Richie says emphatically. He’s still facing Eddie when he squirts the lube in and lines up his thick cockhead to push into the fleshlight, which is wrong. 

“No, face the mirror. I want you to see what you look like. I want to see your cock going in. I need to make sure you’re good enough to fuck me, right?”

“Fuuuuck, yeah. Yeah, that’s right,” Richie says, but he’s more talking to himself. He pivots so he’s facing the mirror. He looks back at Eddie once more before sliding his cock in. The sight is scorching. Richie sinks all the way in, he's using the hand opposite from the camera view to hold the fleshlight so Eddie can see perfectly as his dick goes all the way in and rests there. He can see Richie’s hairy, heavy balls, already tight. All he can think about is how much he wants that long shaft deep inside him. Eddie wants to hold him on a leash so he can control every movement Richie makes while he thrusts into Eddie’s hole. 

Eddie watches, captivated, as Richie stuffs his cock into the fake pussy over and over. Richie is so visibly worked up, he’s shining with sweat and thrusting powerfully, like it’s the real thing. If Eddie wasn’t already so desperate to get Richie’s cock in him, this show would cement the need for it. 

Richie is so sexy like this, flushed pink and jack hammering his cock into the messy makeshift hole. He looks animalistic as he lets out these sweet little _uh-uh-uh_ noises with every forward motion. 

Eddie slicks up his fingers and slides two inside of himself in time with Richie’s erratic thrusts. 

Eddie works up to four fingers inside of his aching hole while stroking his cock. Richie cycles through rapid-fire humping, asking Eddie to let him come (Eddie says not yet), and ultimately gripping the sink with his free hand while slowly thrusting in and out trying his best not to come until he’s allowed. Eddie makes him watch himself in the mirror the whole time; he needs Richie to see what Eddie can do to him even when he’s not in the room.

After three times denying Richie’s release, Eddie decides to have some mercy. He fucks himself harder with his fingers, angling better for his prostate, and tilts his camera down. He spreads his legs wide, making sure to get an adequate view of his fingers going into his stretched out, dripping hole. 

“Watch me,” he says, sounding like his vocal cords have gone through a lawnmower. 

Richie’s head whips to the side, finally able to look at what Eddie is doing instead of staring at himself, and Eddie sees his face crumple at the sight. 

“You want this to be you?” Eddie moans out, the rhythmic squelching noises of his fingers pounding into himself almost muffling his words. His body is two sizes too small for the sensation that’s bubbling up inside of him, thinking about Richie watching him, Richie seeing him open like this for the first time, Richie wishing he was filling Eddie instead. “You’re doing so good, Rich, tell me what you are, tell me what you want and you can come.”

Richie whines loud, echoing in his bathroom. Eddie can see his stomach muscles twitch and his thigh fat jiggle with the force of him chasing his orgasm. He leans forward, head resting against the mirror, still facing Eddie on the phone, and starts babbling.

“I’m a slut.” 

A bolt of electricity shoots through Eddie’s entire body, his back tenses, his toes curl because of how much he can tell Richie _means it_ this time. He thinks he’ll keep doing this for as long as he can if he can get Richie to sound like this. 

“I want to fuck you so bad, want you to use my cock, want to be good for you, wanna be your— fuck!— _your_ slut—”

Eddie comes. His vision blurs out from how hard he clenches his eyes and he _comes_ , letting it shoot out, almost hitting his phone and dripping down his knuckles, down and down to drip over the fingers still snug inside of his hole. 

When he opens his eyes back up and refocuses on his phone, he catches the end of Richie’s orgasm. He mentally curses himself for missing it, but as Richie pulls his softening cock out of the toy, Eddie catches the glossy drip of Richie’s come shining against his yellow bathroom lights and and his dick twitches one more time for the night. 

Richie straightens back up, he wiggles the come drenched fleshlight at the camera for Eddie to see and says, “You want me to demonstrate how good I can eat you out?” 

“I’ll save that for the real thing,” Eddie chuckles breathlessly, always grateful how easily Richie falls back into jokes after they get off.

“I’ll hold you to it,” Richie stretches his arms up above his head, like he’s getting feeling back in his muscles. Eddie’s eyes trace the jut of his hips, up to the lines of his ribs, over his taut pecs and then fall on his eyes. “Shame we can’t cuddle over FaceTime.”

“You’ve never wanted to cuddle after before,” Eddie snorts while he starts to clean himself up, ready to tell Richie he’s got to go. 

“Yeah, well, that’s at work. I have to get back to my desk. I don’t have shit to do here except finish this season of American Vandal with no one to cuddle.”

“Cuddle your cat.”

“I think that's even less likely than cuddling with you, Eds. She’s just as bitchy,” Richie laughs. 

“Only you would have a cat that can’t even stand you,” Eddie teases.

“Exactly my type,” Richie mutters, low so that Eddie almost doesn’t catch it. He decides to pretend he didn’t.

“Well, thanks,” Eddie says, awkward as hell. He usually relies on Richie to not be awkward after, but Richie’s being… weird, too. “Good night.”

“Yeah, night, dude,” Richie rushes out and Eddie gets one last glimpse of his post-orgasm shirtless body while he reaches an arm towards Eddie—the phone—and ends the call. 

* * *

Richie’s avoiding him. He's conveniently not at his desk at the exact time Eddie comes into the office, Eddie never sees him around, and Richie doesn’t come to say goodnight. So, Eddie’s avoiding him right back.

Because, well, Eddie doesn't exactly know why, but that doesn’t change the fact that it's mutual. 

Eddie wants to scream, he’s so frustrated. He feels like he’s floating alone at sea, no fucking clue where land could even _maybe_ be. 

Richie was the first to say this was a bad idea, that they hate each other, but he was also the first to beg for it, wait around for Eddie just on the chance he might get it. 

Eddie doesn’t know what he did, he saw how hard Richie came the last time they talked. Richie begs for it and comes every single time, sometimes twice. What else does he want? 

If he has a problem, he could at least fucking tell Eddie what it is so he could fix it and they can get on with their arrangement. But the more Eddie thinks about it, the more he realizes that Richie Tozier has never been very good at communication. Neither is Eddie himself.

As the Richie-less days tick on, Eddie thinks about going out of his way to find Richie instead of just assuming they’ll run into each other at some point. It's been almost an entire week and they haven’t. Richie must be watching for when Eddie gets on the stairs and dips out somewhere before he comes in. And that’s just ridiculous. The amount of effort it takes as a front desk receptionist to avoid someone who fucking enters the building is _ridiculous_ , and if Richie put that much effort into not getting in trouble, maybe they wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. 

Eddie figured they’d see each other somewhere, a hallway, the bathroom, the parking lot, and they would just come together like they always inevitably did and it would all go back to normal. 

At lunch one day, Eddie even goes to go sit with a few coworkers in the big break room (which he never does) in hopes that he’ll see Richie. He sits there and eats his chicken and walnut salad and listens to these morons talk about shit he doesn’t care about and keeps an eye on the door. 

When his forty-five minutes is almost up, and still no sign of Richie, he coughs pointedly and the three other people at the table look up in mild shock that he’s made any noise at all. 

“Uh, so, have you guys seen Tozier around at all?” Eddie figures one of them has to have. They’re all on the main floor as well, the same office row as Eddie’s hallway. They must have seen Richie at one point when he was making his rounds to chat or bid people a goodnight.

They look around at each other silently until one of the men pipes up, “Just at his desk…? We aren’t really friendly with him.”

Weird. Richie is friendly with, like, everyone. 

“He doesn’t say goodnight to everyone anymore?”

The woman of the group snorts. Eddie’s eyes snap to her and she looks back at him solidly. “Oh, you’re serious?” she says. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” What the fuck is _her_ problem?

“He only ever went to your office to say goodnight. You thought he walked to every office? That would take an _hour_ ,” she laughs. “We all just assumed you guys knew each other before he got hired and you were friends or something, and that's why he did that.”

Oh.

“Oh.” Eddie feels his cheeks heat. “Uh, yeah. We’re friends. Nevermind.”

Eddie throws his barely eaten lunch away and goes back to his office. 

He needs to talk to Richie. 

* * *

**Meeting request to Richard Tozier— Sent.**

Eddie gnaws on the skin around his fingers. He knows Richie can’t decline the meeting, which is why he didn’t originally want to go this route. He doesn’t want to force Richie to talk to him, but he doesn’t have any other choice right now. 

* * *

Eddie’s door creaks open and Richie slips in, closing the door behind him. He doesn’t lock it, which goes to show that Richie doesn’t expect—or doesn’t want—this to be like their previous “ _meetings.”_

Eddie’s throat closes up like there’s a balloon being inflated there, blocking his airwaves and making him lightheaded. He looks at Richie, how his smile doesn’t seem as easy, but it’s still there and Eddie did miss it. A little. 

Richie sits down, folds his hands in his lap, and says nothing.

He looks hot as usual, but he looks on the edge of something else, too. 

“So… what’s up with you?” Eddie tries. 

Richie’s eyebrows launch into his hairline.

“What’s _up_ with _me_?” 

Eddie knows this isn’t going to go well, but he doubles down and nods. 

“Are you— are you fucking serious, dude?”

“Yeah, we were doing fine! You haven’t talked to me, I haven’t seen you since we talked on the phone! So, what’s up?!”

“I’m not doing this.” Richie stands up. Eddie gets up, too, and walks around his desk so he’s right in front of Richie. 

“Doing what?! I don’t know what’s going on! What did I do?! I thought we were having fun.” If Eddie’s voice gets a little softer at the end of his sentence, he hopes Richie doesn’t call him on it. 

“We were, I just—” Richie lets out a frustrated noise and waves his hands around. “You’re so fucking stupid!”

What the fuck?

“Hey, fuck y—”

“Eddie, I fucking told you I _like-liked_ you, like I was a fucking fifth-grader begging to give you a Charlie Brown valentine and you skipped over it, made fun of me for wanting to fucking cuddle with you, and then hung up on me!”

Eddie’s brain stops. “Well, you hung up on me, technically,” he manages to squeeze out. 

“Oh, whatever, you spiritually hung up on me then. You said good night,” Richie sounds mean, meaner than Eddie knew he was capable of. “And you’ve done it every time! I try to be nice to you, and you’re an asshole. I ask you on a fucking date, and you say some bullshit about it not being allowed at work as if you’re not literally fucking me in the building! The worst part is you’re acting like you don’t even notice it’s happening.” Richie’s voice is getting louder and more bitter with every word. “I should be used to it, but it’s a fucking bummer, okay? I don’t want to fuck you anymore. Find someone else.”

Eddie’s head is spinning, every interaction they’ve had is hurdling to the forefront of his brain in a flashing, technicolor montage. Richie flirting with him in their first meeting when Eddie had already written him off. Richie wanting to know if he could ask out a coworker, and Eddie assuming it was anyone but himself. All the times Richie has brought up going on a date with Eddie, which Eddie assumed were jokes at his own expense. 

Eddie Kaspbrak isn’t in the business of noticing other people. But leave it to Richie to be relentless enough to make him try. 

Richie is heading towards the door when Eddie stops him with a hand on his forearm, twisting Richie around so their eyes can meet. Richie’s strong jaw is clenched when he looks down at Eddie and Eddie just can’t stand it anymore. He leans up and gets rid of the space between their bodies and kisses Richie. 

Richie doesn’t kiss back, he doesn’t move at all. Eddie doesn’t know what to do— doesn’t know how to say that he gets it now and he’s going to _try_. He separates their lips just by a centimeter. 

“I don’t want to find someone else,” Eddie says into Richie’s mouth. “I want you.”

Eddie looks up through his lashes, from under his scrunched down brows, and sees _heat_ and _want_ reflected in Richie’s face and he knows he’s won. 

It’s like a tornado hits his body, the way Richie pushes him back and slams their mouths together. Eddie’s matching guest chairs get knocked carelessly out of the way as Richie pushes their bodies through the path in between them so Eddie is pinned to the front of his own desk by Richie’s body. 

There’s a passion that Eddie remembers from the first time they did this, but this time it’s _Richie_ pushing, taking, claiming. Eddie didn’t even notice Richie was holding back this whole time, but he must have been if the way his tongue is almost completely down Eddie’s throat in a matter of seconds is any indication. 

“Let me fuck you, baby, please.” This time it’s Richie forcing the words into Eddie’s open mouth, and Eddie’s whole body is screaming _yes_. 

Eddie can’t get out a verbal response, he can hardly breathe, he just wants— _needs_ Richie inside him. So, he uses one hand to push the shit off of his desk behind him and the other to hoist himself up so he’s seated on it. He winds his legs around Richie’s hips and pulls. 

Richie grunts when their groins are pressed together from the movement and Eddie locks his ankles behind Richie’s ass and grinds their trapped cocks together hard. 

Richie grabs him by the thighs and, oh, what the _fuck._

“Ah—“ Eddie hisses when Richie hoists Eddie into the air and carries him while he switches their positions. Eddie’s hands scrabble for purchase and end up clinging and grabbing onto Richie’s broad shoulders until Richie sits on the desk himself with Eddie on his lap. 

Richie kisses up Eddie’s neck, which Eddie can somehow feel all the way down his body and says, voice deep, “I still want you in charge.” 

Eddie lets out an embarrassing whine and pushes Richie’s shoulders down hard so his back lies flat on the desk. Eddie hops off and makes quick work of unbuckling their belts and sliding their pants and briefs off. Both of their cocks spring up, hard and red and wet already. 

Richie reaches forward like he’s going to grab onto Eddie, but Eddie pushes his hands and arms away. “I know we’re having a moment, but I’ve been thinking about you fucking me with this thing,” Eddie grabs Richie’s cock, which twitches as soon as his fingers circle it, “for _months._ If you want me to be in charge then keep your hands to yourself.” 

Eddie leans over to the pile of papers and pens and cups he pushed off his desk and grabs his bag of rubber bands. He straightens back up so he’s standing between Richie’s spread thighs and holds them up for him to see. Richie swallows. 

“You’re not gonna put those on my dick, right?”

“Maybe if you’re bad,” Eddie says, but he only half means it. His heart isn’t as in it this time. He just wants to feel Richie inside of him as soon as possible, but not enough to sacrifice being able to control it himself. He unbuttons Richie’s shirt and slides it off of his big arms, kissing down his chest as he discards it across the floor. “Sit up, give me your hands.”

“You push me down then tell me to sit up, make up your mind,” Richie’s teasing but he looks skeptical as he holds his arms out, inner wrists joined together. 

Eddie pulls out a few of the thicker rubber bands and secures them around Richie’s wrists. They’re not the strongest form of bondage, but they’ll do. Eddie tests the give by pulling Richie’s hands apart slightly, and is happy to see they aren’t too tight but tight enough that Richie can’t just bust out of them. He kisses Richie’s knuckles one by one and says, “Get on your knees.” 

Richie scrambles to comply, sinking down with a dull thud against the carpet. Eddie takes off his shirt and folds it neatly, placing it on one of the pushed-aside guest chairs. 

They’re both completely naked together for the first time and it’s making Eddie’s brain swim and his thoughts become so disorganized that he almost can’t remember where he was going with this. 

But just one look at Richie kneeling on the floor with his chest puffing and hands bound on his thighs and he remembers. 

“You have to get me ready to take your cock,” Eddie says as he approaches Richie on the floor. “You can show me how good you can be at eating me out like you promised.” 

Eddie passes Richie on the floor and leans over his own desk, bracing his hands on the wood and spreading his thighs. His hole is the perfect height for Richie’s head where he’s kneeling and he’s about to tell Richie to get to work when he feels the wet, warm pressure of a mouth against his inner thigh. 

Eddie’s body jolts at the initial contact, he wasn’t expecting it because he didn’t tell Richie to do it. But Richie must be so eager, he didn’t care to wait for the request. The sticky, syrupy heat of anticipation intensifies throughout Eddie’s body. 

Richie trails slow, open-mouthed kisses up Eddie’s thighs until he gets to his balls. He laves his tongue around them, tracing the outsides and in between them. He rolls each of them in his mouth, cradling them with his tongue individually. He licks and sucks on them with delicacy and care, like Eddie’s balls are his fucking salvation. 

Eddie mewls once Richie gets to his ass. Richie licks a broad stripe up from Eddie’s balls right over his hole and Eddie _gasps._

Richie hardens his tongue and uses the point of it to circle Eddie’s hole a few times. Richie lets it catch and caress Eddie’s rim while giving little flicks of his firm muscle. Eddie is pretty sure he’s drooling onto the lacquered wood. 

Richie has his face pushed in so deep that his curls are tickling the sides of Eddie’s ass cheeks. He goes at it, slurping and burying his tongue inside for several long minutes before he pulls away quickly to suck in a lungful of air. 

With Richie backed up, the cold air on all his dripping saliva soaking Eddie’s hole makes it twitch, he can feel it gaping a little before squeezing shut. Richie must see it, too, because he lets out a cute, helpless sound and plants a soft kiss right on top of the opening.

“Do you have lube in here,” Richie starts to ask, but he is cut off by Eddie pushing two fingers inside of himself using just his spit. It’s a slow burn, not nearly slippery enough for it to be painless, but its fucking amazing. Eddie wants to feel Richie anyways, he wants to feel all of this as much as possible. Richie licks around where Eddie’s fingers are sinking into his tight hole, happy to add more wetness. 

Richie takes over and opens Eddie up on his fingers clumsily. Eddie’s not sure if it's more because of his wrists being trapped together or because of how much he’s aching to be inside of Eddie already. Either way, Eddie wishes he could step outside of his body so that he could see Richie, chest heaving, sweating, and almost suffocating himself with how much he wants to please Eddie. Giddily, Eddie thinks that they’ll have plenty of other opportunities for Eddie to watch in the future. Their future. 

“That’s enough, Richie. C’mon, I’m ready,” Eddie says, his voice is heavy with pleasure as he reaches behind himself and makes a weak effort to grab onto Richie and pull him up. Richie laughs at him, but Eddie hears his knees pop when he stands up to comply. 

The first brush of Richie’s cock over his hole is electrifying. It takes a few tries to get Richie to sink in without the use of his hands, and his first thrust only squeezes half of his fat cock inside because of the lack of lube and the hurriedness, but Eddie almost screams with how good it feels. He bites his noises down to whimpers so that no one can hear from the hallway— _fuckfuckfuck_ **_FUCK_ **— 

“Richie, you didn’t lock the door,” Eddie whispers, terror coursing through his blood. Anyone could have just… walked in at any time. Eddie hears Richie utter a curse and feels him start to turn around to rectify the situation. But maybe…

“Wait,” Eddie says. “Keep going.”

“ _Fuck_ yeah.”

Richie does. He immediately gets back on board and sinks his cock into Eddie in one push this time. Eddie bites down on his fist hard enough that he’s concerned he’s going to need stitches after this. “You like that,” Eddie babbles in hushed tones. “You want someone to come in and see you, tied up and fucking me over my desk like my personal fuck machine or something. You want people to know you’ll do whatever I say?”

" _O_ _hmygod_ ,” Richie whines and hunches over, closing Eddie in even more. Richie stops pulling out of Eddie completely, instead he drives his cock as deep into Eddie as it can go. The scratchy texture of Richie’s coarse pubic hair rubs Eddie’s tailbone near-raw from the sheer strength of Richie’s grinds. The pouch of Richie’s stomach rests and pushes at Eddie’s lower back and Richie’s bound hands come up to circle around Eddie’s neck, keeping them close. Richie licks along the side of Eddie’s throat from this angle and Eddie melts. He’s surrounded by Richie’s touch, his sweat, his smell, his breathy grunts. Richie keeps full-on expertly deep-dicking Eddie, pushing into his prostate over and over and over until Eddie’s eyes roll back into his head. 

All it takes is a few more heated flexes of Richie’s hips, pinning Eddie’s cock between his own convulsing stomach and the hard pressure of his desk to get him to come. He comes all over his desk and Richie doesn’t let up. He bites into the freckled flesh of Eddie’s shoulder blade and chases his own release. Richie’s balls slap against Eddie’s where his thighs have spread further due to his post-orgasm weakness. Richie’s body and the desk are the only things keeping him up anymore. Eddie’s come gets smeared all over his desk, his torso running through the slick slide of it on every one of Richie’s pounding thrusts. His back is covered in pinpricks of painful bliss where Richie leaves bite marks, one after the other, and wet from Richie’s sweat getting dragged across by his chest and forehead. He feels buried and claustrophobic in the best way, like every single breath he takes was also inside Richie before himself. 

He realizes that they didn’t use a condom at the exact moment that Richie’s cock jerks, spilling out inside of Eddie. Eddie’s never been able to feel someone come in him before, but he can feel it now, likely from how badly he wants to. He feels full and warm and messy and dirty in the best possible ways he can imagine. Richie stays inside him, deep, for a few seconds while they just breathe together, locked onto one another. 

Richie kisses his cheek and the corner of his mouth until Eddie pushes his lazy head to the side to get some lip action. They make out slowly while Richie softens up, eventually making a sad little noise and saying, “I don’t wanna go back to work.”

Eddie thinks he could really, maybe, a little bit not hate this guy. 

They clean up together. Eddie hands Richie some of his baby wipes when he’s done and gets to work sanitizing his come off of his desk. When he’s done and turns around to throw out his garbage, he catches Richie just staring at him while buttoning his shirt.

“What?” Eddie smirks. He thinks he knows what's coming. 

Richie finishes his top button, snug against his throat, and makes a performance out of shuffling his feet and biting his lower lip. 

“Wanna go on a date?”

“I don’t know, I’ll have to think about it,” Eddie says.

“Oh, interesting. Really cute,” Richie rolls his eyes. 

They stare at each other.

“How about now?” Richie says, relentless.

“Hmmm,” Eddie makes a show out of pretending to think. He can have fun, too, despite what people say. “Yeah, okay.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you [Katie,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempestbreak/pseuds/tempestbreak) the smartest and sexiest Virgo, for the beta <3
> 
> And thank you group chat!
> 
> say hi on twitter if u want @scorpio_pit !


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